


Head in the Clouds

by FloraTheWriter



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Confrontations, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Kissing, Love/Hate, M/M, Musicians, Neighbors, Parallels, Self-Discovery, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-23 11:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 46,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloraTheWriter/pseuds/FloraTheWriter
Summary: Like millions of others, Minho is in love with Han Jisung - a popular idol. For years, he's watched Jisung from a distance despite living in the same city. When Jisung's biggest secret is splashed all over the media, Minho begins to orchetrate a plan to meet him just like he's always dreamed. But when Chan moves into the apartment opposite Minho's, he becomes a needed albeit unwanted distraction from Minho's fantasies.Jisung spent his entire life in pursuit of superstardom, and lives his life by a stable yet suffocating routine. But when his manager is fired for revealing a devastating secret, Hwang Hyunjin is hired as a replacement to salvage Jisung's career. Despite being young and inexperienced, Hyunjin begins to show Jisung that there's more than just his career that needs saving.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 60
Kudos: 442





	1. Chapter 1

**‘Han Jisung is Gay’**

_ In an interview about his latest album, singer-songwriter Yoon Jaehyuk revealed a shocking secret about fellow musician Han Jisung who is also signed to Bob Entertainment. _

_ When asked about dating rumors regarding himself and a waitress at a well-known fast-food restaurant, Yoon Jaehyuk cleverly diverted attention away from his love life by blurting out, “Han Jisung is gay – his manager mentioned it when I met him at a bar last week.” _

_Jaehyuk abruptly ended the interview, citing an upset stomach, and rescheduling for next month. _

_ We are currently waiting for Bob Entertainment to release an official statement. Han Jisung’s manager, Yang Hyun Suk was seen leaving the company building in tears, amongst gathering fans holding memeful placards. Acorns (as Jisung has lovingly named his fans) demand that Yang Hyun Suk be fired. _

Lee Minho tried to stifle the excited yelp that threatened to spill from his mouth. He took a deep breath, clasping a hand over his mouth and filling his nostrils with stale air polluted with overused cologne. Of course, he succeeded in quelling his excitement, and instead, he erupted into a fit of coughs, making his co-workers and the horde of afternoon shoppers turn to look at him with raised eyebrows. The haughty women scanning the racks of clothing and shelves of makeup and cologne all gave him distasteful looks before resuming their afternoon shopping, most likely sponsored by their rich husbands or fathers. 

He caught the disapproving glare of the store manager and flashed him an apologetic grin. “So stuffy in here today, huh,” he whispered to one of his fellow salespeople, nudging the woman in her side. She cast him an annoyed glance before finding a customer to assist.

He was about to look back at the article displayed on his phone screen when he was rudely interrupted by a customer. “I can’t find the right shade of blue eye shadow,” the middle aged woman complained.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Honey, you shouldn’t be looking at blue in the first place. Green – that’s your color.” He shooed her away with a quick shooing gesture of his hands, before looking back down at his phone screen.

_ Oh my God. He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay. _

“Lee Minho, you are supposed to be working! What do you think you’re doing?”

“He’s gay,” Minho murmured in an unconscious daze.

“What?” his red-faced manager glared at him, his eyes flashing. 

Minho hurriedly stepped back, unaware that he’d been muttering out loud. A slight blush colored his cheeks when he saw a few of the other workers looking at them too. “I – I didn’t mean to say…” And then it dawned on him – the mountain of planning that would need to happen, perhaps overnight. He didn’t have time for work. 

“I have to go, Sir.”

“What?” His manager’s anger had now melted into confusion. “What do you mean you have to go?”

But Minho was already retrieving his bag from the storeroom. “Family emergency,” he said over his shoulder, with a gleeful smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Sir.”

And with those words, he slung his bag over his shoulder, and made his way out of the department store, a skip in his step. 

Despite the dark clouds in the sky, his surroundings seemed so much brighter. He could’ve sworn he could hear birds chirping over the constant honking of cars in the afternoon traffic. The smell of sweaty construction workers and school children seemed to be overpowered by the scent of invisible blooming roses. A kaleidoscope of color only he could see seemed to wash over the usual dull gray of the towering office buildings and stretches of tarred road. Everything in the world felt right.

_ So this is what euphoria feels like. _ He smiled to himself as he made his way to his apartment building. He paused at an intersection, looking longingly at the road ahead. _ So close, but so far _. His feet tingled in anticipation. It was right there – Bob Entertainment, and Jisung was probably in there right now. But he needed to be patient. Every step of his plan needed to be followed as it should be. 

Turning in the opposite direction, he sighed in relief as his building came into view. Even the peeling paint and sour-faced doorman couldn’t dampen his mood. He gave a salutary wave to the old man before entering the building.

“Such a wonderful day,” he squealed, twirling into the elevator and pressing the button for the fifth floor. His legs began to move automatically, doing the choreography for one of Jisung’s latest singles. He’d stayed up an entire night, perfecting every move. He knew the choreography for _ all _ of Jisung’s songs.

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful day.”

Minho let out a yell and jumped in fright, clutching onto the elevator wall to keep from tripping over his feet. He stood still, facing the elevator doors, after realizing that the person had been watching him the entire way up. The doors clanged open and he hurried out, eager to get away from the embarrassment. But it followed him like a mosquito eager for blood. 

_ Literally _, it followed him. He heard footsteps following him out into the hallway. Already, Minho’s face had heated up and was burning with embarrassment. He didn’t dare look back.

But even as he made his way to his apartment – the very last door – the footsteps followed. He was now almost at his door, and he could still hear footsteps close behind. Getting more and more anxious with every passing second, he began to envision scenes from all the horror movies he’d watched in his lifetime (quite a few). Mustering a burst of confidence, he whipped around to confront the stalker. 

“You,” he narrowed his eyes. “Why are you following me?” But his eyes widened at the sight of the male. He was decidedly better looking than anyone else who ever stepped foot in that shabby building. Most of the other tenants were couples who were just starting out in life, or very old people who were, well, preparing for the end of their lives. Hardly any of the tenants ever got visitors, and when they did, they were always repairmen or delivery people – not much to look at, and not very interesting.

But this person… was different. Minho studied him – black jeans, black t-shirt, black beanie – not much to say about his style, except that he was perhaps going through some gothic phase. Minho scrunched his nose at the lack of color. His outfit was appalling compared to anything Jisung would wear. In stark contrast to his clothing, his curly hair was platinum blonde, most of it obscured by the beanie, but sticking out here and there. Jisung would never leave his hair so unkempt. He cleared his throat when he realized that the male had been carefully studying him too. “Well, why are you following me?” 

The blonde raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, and pointed over Minho’s shoulder. Minho scowled but turned to look at what was being pointed out. He blinked in surprise. Several cardboard boxes were strewn on the floor outside the apartment opposite to his own.

“Huh?” Minho stared at the boxes in confusion.

He heard a soft chuckle that made him look suspiciously at the blonde again.

“I’m moving in there,” the male said, an amused smile across his face – a handsome face, Minho noted, but nothing like Jisung’s. 

“You… You’re moving in _ there _?” Minho asked, his hands on his hips. “You can’t do that.” He shook his head at the newcomer.

But the male just shrugged his shoulders. “I already paid the deposit, so…”

Minho tilted his head, taken aback by the unusual accent. He couldn’t quite place it. “There’s a plumbing problem in that apartment,” he rolled his eyes. “The landlord is way too busy and thrifty to hire someone to fix it. The apartment has been vacant for two years. Anyway, there’s a whole lot of junk piled in there now. And you can’t live there.”

“And I just spent the entire morning cleaning the pile of junk out,” the male replied, his smile never leaving his face. “I also fixed the plumbing myself.”

“Fine,” Minho’s shoulders slumped and he stomped towards his door. This was going to be a problem – he just knew it. He had always been surrounded by the old tenants, all hard of hearing. The young married couples had all been given the first two floors – most likely so their children wouldn’t accidentally fall to their deaths when their parents weren’t paying attention. But now, _ now _, he had this young person who could obviously hear quite well, and was bound to complain about the loud music from Minho’s apartment. 

“I’m Chan, by the way,” the male grinned, turning the key in his own door and looking over his shoulder at Minho.

Minho opened his door and grimaced. “Great.”

Chan, heaved a box into his arms, kicking open his door. “You know, while you’re here, you should probably take my number …”

“What?” Minho’s eyes widened in surprise. Out of all the things he’d expected the new tenant to say... “Why would I do that?”

Chan paused in his doorway, looking at Minho in confusion. “Well, in case you need me –”

“What on earth would I need _ you _ for?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “Look,” he sighed, “I know you’re probably new around here – you certainly _ sound _ like it – but I’m not going to offer to be your tour guide or anything. I’m way too busy.”

“Oh umm,” Chan, to Minho’s annoyance looked amused. “I actually just umm... Actually, never mind. If you do need something, just knock. But I work at night so…”

Minho snorted. “I don’t see what I could possibly want from you.” _ What a strange person _. He stepped inside his apartment, closing his door and locking it behind him.

He flung his bag onto the couch and sat cross-legged on the carpet in front of his laptop. He groaned when he discovered that Bob Entertainment still hadn’t released any official statement. There were, however, many rumors circulating on his Twitter timeline, all indicating that Yang Hyun Suk had been dismissed from the company.

“Serves him right,” Minho murmured, scouring through recent tweets. “He wasn’t good enough for Jisung anyway.”

He couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction at the thought of Jisung being gay. _ I mean, who would have thought? _ Jisung was always flirting with his female fans, winking at them, holding their hands at concerts… Minho had thought that his love for Jisung would always be completely one-sided, but _ now _ , he had a chance – a _ real _ chance. He just needed the agency to confirm it.

His head in his hands, he scowled at the screen. But then he realized, he should be doing something more productive.

Several bundles, in every size and color were piled high in his closet. He looked at the bundles fondly, each of them carrying objects of varying importance.

Carefully, he lifted the lime green bundle out of his closet, making sure not to topple all the others – it had happened too many times before. It helped that this bundle always stayed at the very top. He sat down on the carpet, the bundle between his legs. He untied the knot, spreading the cloth open. A soft pink teddy bear was the first thing that toppled out. He touched the pink fur fondly before placing it to the side, retrieving his most prized possession. 

It was a small painting of two turtledoves and the words ‘true love exists’ scrawled beneath. It wasn’t much, but still, it was precious. His grandparents had given him the painting when he was eight years old. It was the only thing they’d kept of his mother’s, and as much as they hated it, it was reminiscent of his parents’ love story.

His parents’ love story was a legend back in the small fishing village Minho was from. His father, Kangyu, a newbie actor, set to make his mark in a movie had been filming a scene in a fishing boat on the river. Full of bravado, he’d attempted to stand on the edge, and foolishly fell into the river. Having being raised in a city, he had no idea how to swim in a strong current. Minho’s mother, one of the few fully literate women in the village was a junior school art teacher. She’d been escorting a few of the younger kids to school when she saw him fall into the river and cry out for help. Cheered on by the gathering crowd, she’d jumped into the river and saved him. Of course, they fell in love.

Minho’s grandparents had been completely against the idea of her dating a celebrity, but she snuck out to see Kangyu every night for the next two months, until filming for the drama was completed. To no one’s surprise, she ended up pregnant, and then she did the most logical thing – she ran off with him. Turns out, the movie was a complete flop due to Kangyu’s poor acting ability. And as Minho’s grandmother liked to put it – while Minho’s mother got knocked up, his father got knocked out of the movie industry. Fast forward nine months, and baby Minho had been left on his grandparents’ doorstep with a small note:

_ Kangyu left me. I’ll take Minho back when I can afford him. _

Needless to say, she never took him back. But he’d always wondered, of course he wondered, what they were like – what his mother was like. And when his grandparents’ presented him with his mother’s painting, he understood. He understood that she was only trying to find love, and she found love – but it wasn’t _ true _ love. So he forgave her for not wanting him. After all, he was the product of untrue love – why would she want to keep a memento of that?

He traced the white doves, his fingers gently caressing the canvas_ . _ He traced the words, murmuring them out loud in reverence. His mother had painted it because she believed in it – in true love – and so did he. But he would be successful where she wasn’t. 

He glanced at the laptop screen, Jisung’s face illuminated by the glowing white light. Minho already knew that he’d found his true love. Now Han Jisung just needed to realize that Minho was worthy of being loved. 

He hummed one of Jisung’s songs as he rummaged in the kitchen cupboard for the coffee. He frowned when he saw that he was running out. He’d recently changed the brand of coffee he used to one that was recommended by Jisung. The taste was more bitter than he was accustomed to, but if Jisung liked it, there must be something good about it.

He grabbed the kettle off the counter and made his way to the sink. He wondered what Jisung was doing, whether he was alright, whether the company was giving him a hard time, whether he’d eaten, whether –

He yelped and dropped the kettle as icy cold water began to spray onto him. Blindly, he held his hands out trying to shield himself from the rebellious kitchen sink. He tried to analyze where the water was spouting from but failed. 

Careful not to slip on any puddles of water, he sprinted for his phone, dialing his landlord’s number. This was the reason he kept it on speed dial. “Listen, Mr Choi,” he snapped. “I am sick of the plumbing in this apartment failing every two seconds,” he knew that was a bit of an exaggeration but anyways… “If you don’t fix it right now, I’m not paying my rent for this month.”

His spluttering landlord reassured him that he’d send the maintenance person to check it out in a few minutes. Only when Minho hung up, did he realize that this building didn’t have a maintenance guy. Scowling, he was about to phone him again and ask whether he planned on conjuring up a maintenance person from thin air, when he heard a knock on the door.

A growing scowl on his face, he opened the door to find none other than the new neighbor (Minho couldn’t for the life of him remember his name – Chin? Chun?) staring at him with a dimpled smile. Minho raised his eyebrows at the pizza box he had balanced on one hand. “It’s not mine, Chun,” he huffed. “Try first or second floor. I doubt the oldies up here order pizza.”

“Umm,” a nervous giggle escaped from Chun’s mouth. “It’s actually mine. I ordered it,” he clarified.

Minho narrowed his eyes. “Look, Chun, I’m having a pretty rough day. I’m about to drown in my apartment. And you want me to pay for your pizza? I guess wherever you come from, it’s probably the uh house warming tradition or something, but –”

“I paid for it already,” Chun said, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

Minho shrugged his shoulders. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t drown in your apartment,” Chun laughed, his pale cheeks tinted pink. He held up his right hand, which grasped a metal tool box. “I’m the maintenance guy.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“It’s been hours – we need to make a statement.”

“Yes, but we can’t rush or we’ll make a bigger mess of things.”

“We could just deny it – say he’s as straight as a ruler.”

“The time for denying has past – everyone will suspect now.”

“We could say he’s bisexual – wouldn’t that be easier?”

“I agree that it will be nice having the whole LGBT community – is that what they’re even called – on our side. The world likes that sort of thing these days.”

“He’ll become more popular internationally – more sales. It’s an opportunity.”

“I agree with the bisexual thing – it’s more appealing. At least he won’t lose many female fans.”

“But I’m gay,” Jisung interjected. “I’m _ not _ bisexual.” 

Neither of the board members even batted an eyelid in his direction. He sat at the very end of the long table, watching everyone squabble over what needs to be done. He could feel a headache coming on. For the past four hours, he’d been sitting in silence and no one had bothered asking his opinion on anything. He was used to it. No one asked his opinion when it came to marketing his music, or deciding where to tour or anything, really. But he hoped that with this – this at least – he would be allowed to have an opinion.

It was bad enough that his good-for-nothing, now ex-manager, had spilled a secret he’d told him in full confidence. And to whom did he spill his secret? Yoon Jaehyuk. Everyone at the agency knew that Jaehyuk and Jisung were highly competitive with each other. It was only natural that Jaehyuk told the world something that would harm Jisung’s career.

“I’m GAY,” he said again, this time a little louder. The CEO of Bob Entertainment, Park Sungjin, looked at him for a long second.

“Have some coffee, Jisung,” he said before turning back to one of the other board members.

Jisung stared in disbelief. “I hate you all,” he murmured under his breath.

“So it’s decided,” Sungjin clasped his hands together. “Send out a statement that Jisung is bisexual. Make it sound… favorable. And make sure people know how _ supportive _ we are of Jisung’s lifestyle,” he told one of the publicists. 

Jisung glared angrily at his reflection on the glass table. He had the urge to grab a hammer and shatter it into pieces. He hated these people. And most of all, he hated himself for letting them walk all over him.

“Now for the matter of finding him a new manager,” a board member sighed. “Is there anyone available in Division 2 or 3?”

“No,” Sungjin said quickly. “We have the new boy group debuting next month. And then the girl group in two months. But one of my interns had a brilliant suggestion.” He looked at the intern who sat opposite him. “Dowoon and I have already discussed a replacement.”

Jisung wasn’t surprised that this decision too, had been made without his opinion.

“Go on, Dowoon,” Sungjin encouraged.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” the intern, Dowoon, said with a smug smile on his face.

Everyone, Jisung included, looked at him blankly. “Am I supposed to know who that is?” a gray-haired board member frowned.

“No,” the intern chuckled brazenly. “But his job application has been sitting with human resources for a while.”

“He’s young,” Sungjin noted, looking at the folder that the intern handed to him. “Jisung’s age.”

Jisung was taken aback. He didn’t want to be managed by someone his age. At 23, he could barely manage sleeping and waking up on time. _ What kind of management skills could this Hyunjin person possibly have? _

“But is he skilled enough to handle the position?” one of the board members asked what was on Jisung’s mind.

Sungjin waved off the question with a huff. “I’ll personally manage Jisung’s schedule for his next few tours. Hwang will just be in the picture until this whole thing blows over. I’ll give him instructions through email.”

“Then why hire him at all?” someone asked.

“Two very important things must be taken into consideration,” the intern, Dowoon, smirked. “Hwang is extremely good looking – the media will be _ enthralled _ with him. And also, he’s openly gay.”

_ Gay? _ Jisung’s eyes widened. For a second, he was delighted that there would finally be someone he could to talk to, who would understand what he was going through. But then he remembered the other thing – _ Hwang is extremely good looking. _ He scowled. He didn’t want to be around anyone better looking than he was. His self-esteem wasn’t the greatest.

“I still don’t understand his purpose,” Jisung shrugged.

“Let’s just say that he’ll be a welcome distraction for the media,” Sungjin exchanged a knowing look with Dowoon which made Jisung feel as though they weren’t telling him the whole plan.

“I don’t need a distraction,” Jisung shrugged. “I’ll deal with whatever the media throws at me. I’ve been in this industry since I was a kid. I can handle myself. I don’t need some extremely good-looking guy to distract them.” Jisung had worked his ass off to get where he was. He’d sacrificed any semblance of a teenage life. Everything he did was done so that people would notice him – would acknowledge him. He didn’t need some guy to take that away from him. If all eyes were on him, that was great. He wanted it that way.

“Where is Hwang now?” Sungjin asked, ignoring Jisung and sipping on his tea.

Jisung sighed loudly but no one looked his way.

“He currently teaches dance at an academy not far from here,” the intern answered.

Jisung raised an eyebrow_ . A good looking manager who could dance? _ This was just getting worse…

“Find him, and bring him in,” Sungjin ordered. “The sooner we get him and Jisung acquainted the better. Jisung has that world tour starting soon. He needs to be in perfect condition.”

Jisung watched in anger as they all filed out of the boardroom, leaving him alone to await the arrival of his new manager. He paced the length of the room, pausing now and then to peer through the blinds at the crowd below. He had expected it to thin out after Bob Entertainment released the statement, but instead it had grown massively. Even as the rain came down, he could see news reporters from various media outlets and a barrage of energetic female Acorns, all holding banners and placards where his name and some of his song lyrics were displayed. 

He glanced at the gold watch strapped around his wrist, and scowled. He’d been there for six hours now. He wanted to go home. He flopped down in a chair, imagining that he was in his cozy four bedroom apartment sprawled out in front of the fireplace. He’d have a mug of hot chocolate, marshmallows spilling out the top. Maybe he’d be strumming on his guitar, working on a new song. Or watching a drama, his guilty pleasure. 

He only realized he’d fallen asleep when he was woken with a jolt. Startled, he looked around groggily, his eyes focusing in on the person standing in the doorway. He blinked, taking in the sight of the male staring down at him. 

“Actors usually use the fourth floor,” he said with a yawn, lazily brushing back his brown bangs. “That’s the floor below.” They were always getting their rehearsal rooms mixed up with the music studios. And Jisung knew that they’d recently taken in a host of new acting trainees who were probably scrambling to find their way around the building. 

But the blonde haired male just stared, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m not an actor.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows. “Oh. A model then. Third floor.” 

The blonde silently took a seat opposite Jisung who immediately straightened. “I’m here for you.”

“Oh,” Jisung sighed, understanding. “Do you have a page and pen? Or did you bring an album you want me to sign?” The board members were always sending their relatives to Jisung for autographs and photographs. It was annoying but he had to keep them happy.

“I’m Hwang Hyunjin.”

There was a long pause as it sank in. “Oh shit, no,” Jisung scowled. He had been expecting someone good looking, but he hadn’t been expecting six feet of blonde gorgeousness lacking in imperfection. 

“No?” Hyunjin raised his eyebrows. “Well… Han Jisung,” he frowned. “I already signed the contract at HR so…”

“You what?” Jisung’s jaw dropped. That was fast. They usually put new staff on a probation period.

“Han J –”

“Can you stop calling me that? It’s Jisung. Just Jisung.”

Hyunjin looked at him skeptically. “There’s a certain weight to your name, you know. Han Jisung. That’s the name up there on all those billboards, on those posters, on your album covers…” He sighed. “I’m Hyunjin. No one bothers with my full name. Because I’m _ no one _. So I’m going to keep calling you by your full name, Han Jisung, so that we’re both reminded that there’s a world of difference between you and I.”

Jisung stared. “I’m glad to know we have a mutual dislike of each other.”

Hyunjin shifted in his seat. “I don’t dislike you. I don’t like you either. I don’t _ know _ you. And that’s not going to change. But what I don’t understand, is why _ you _ dislike _ me _.”

“Of course I’m going to dislike you!” Jisung snorted. “Look at you! You’re tall with silky blonde hair and pretty lips! Look at your eyes! And your nose! You’re perfect!”

Hyunjin’s face contorted in confusion, and Jisung had to admit that even then – he looked cute. “I do _ not _understand you,” the blonde frowned. “Are you complimenting me or insulting me? I mean, the words are nice, but you say them like an insult.”

Jisung stood up and folded his arms, looking down at Hyunjin so he would seem more intimidating. “I’m insulting you, FYI.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened, and then flashed angrily. He stood up, and Jisung’s level of intimidation drastically decreased. “Look, Han Jisung, I was trying to be nice, but I guess you should know – I didn’t _ ask _ to be your manager either!”

“Well, then why are you even here?” Jisung retorted, liking this person less and less with each passing moment. “Why’d you even apply to be a manager at Bob?”

“I didn’t!” Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation. “I applied to be a choreographer!”

“Huh?” Jisung furrowed his brows. “Then…?”

“They said I can choreograph the songs on your upcoming album if I agreed to stand in as your manager for a few months.”

“THEY SAID WHAT?” Jisung shook with anger. There was no way he was going to learn any choreo from this guy.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin shrugged. “They said you’re kind of lacking in the dance department too, so I would be beneficial.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung ran his fingers through his hair, gripping the ends in frustration. “This can’t be happening.”

“My dancing isn’t that bad,” Hyunjin had the nerve to look offended. “I can actually teach you a thing or two.”

Jisung glared. “I don’t want to learn from _ you. _ You’re too arrogant,” he rolled his eyes.

“Arrogant? _ Me _ ?” Hyunjin scoffed. “Please. If there’s anyone arrogant here, it’s _ you _ – Mr Big Shot Superstar Singer,” he made a face.

“And you’d do well to remember that,” Jisung replied haughtily.

“Whatever,” Hyunjin shook his head and looked away. “Can we just go home now?”

“Can we WHAT now?” Jisung blanched. 

“Do you have difficulty hearing?” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Your previous manager used to live with you, and I’m taking his place so obviously…”

“Oh for heaven’s sakes,” Jisung kicked at a chair, and Hyunjin flinched back. “You’re just here to ruin my life, aren’t you?” 

Hyunjin shrugged. “I’m here to save your career, according to your CEO. If your life gets ruined in the process, it’s hardly my fault.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m the maintenance guy.”

Minho looked at him blankly. “I – you – maintenance – what? But… pizza?” he spluttered.

The blonde laughed. “I was about to eat when the landlord called,” he explained. “I figured we could just share.”

_ That was nice _ , the decent well-mannered ever polite human being buried deep inside Minho wanted to answer. “Pizza has a truck load of calories,” he said, allowing the male inside. “It’s not my kind of meal.” He had to look good for when Jisung finally sees him.

“So why are you fixing my sink again, Chun?” he asked as he led him into the kitchen.

“Because I’m the building’s new maintenance guy,” Chun replied with a wry smile as he took in the sink situation. “I guess you could call it my day job now.”

Minho huffed. “Makes sense. You could have just said so in the first place.”

“I tried to,” Chun gave him a puzzled look. “It’s why I wanted to give you my number – in case you need me to fix something.”

Minho shrugged in response. “Well, Chun, you should have mentioned that too.”

Chun opened his mouth to argue but apparently thought better of it. Instead he gave Minho an amused grin. “I really think I ought to tell you, my name is Chan, and not Chun.”

“Oh.” Minho tried to think of something smart to say but came up with nothing. 

Chan – not Chun – removed his beanie, allowing his blonde curls to spring free. The hair situation was worse than Minho imagined. The man had no idea how to manage curly hair – that much was a certainty. If he was a customer in the store where Minho worked, he would recommend a range of hair products that would have his hair feeling soft and nourished and full of vitality in no time. 

Minho examined his own reflection in the water covering the floor. He ran his fingers through his brown hair, making a mental note to add more honey blonde highlights. He briefly considered just going fully blonde again, but that was too much of an effort. Also, he didn’t want to damage his hair, or he’d end up with hair like Chan’s. And Jisung would hate that.

He watched with folded arms, as Chan pushed himself beneath the sink, the water flowing around him like he was Poseidon come to life. The thought made Minho giggle on the inside – this man with bad hair living in the sea and swimming around with an arrow headed three-pronged fork. And before he knew it, he was laughing out loud, clutching the side of the kitchen counter to keep himself from collapsing.

Chan pulled himself out from under the sink, sitting up to look at Minho with a raised eyebrow. “You good?”

Minho wiped away his tears of laughter and took deep calming breaths, feeling the heat from his face slowly dissipate as his laughter died away. “Yeah I just uh – just remembered something hilarious.”

Chan simply stared at him for a few seconds, making him feel so uneasy that he averted his eyes to his collection of cat mugs, studying them as if they’d magically appeared there.

“Well, I’m done with the sink,” Chan was on his feet again. 

“Lovely,” Minho inspected the sink, checking to see that the taps had stopped spouting water. 

“So, you’re a fan, huh.”

Minho scoffed. “I think not. You’ve just fixed one sink. You haven’t exactly saved the world.”

Chan scratched the back of his head before pointing behind Minho. “I mean… Han Jisung’s fan.”

“Oh.” There was nothing separating the kitchen from the living room which meant that the large posters that were plastered to the wall were on full display to anyone who came in. “Of course, I am. Han Jisung is… He’s  _ everything _ .” Minho felt his heart beat faster, like it always did when he spoke about Jisung – which wasn’t often. He didn’t really have anyone to listen anymore.

“I guess he’s alright,” Chan shrugged, packing away his tools.

Minho’s jaw dropped. “You  _ guess _ he’s  _ alright _ ? What the –” He shook his head in disbelief. “I  _ guess _ you should  _ leave _ now.”

Chan looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t mean to offe –”

Minho shoved his toolbox into his arms and pushed him towards the door, slamming it shut as soon the male had backed out into the hallway.

“How dare he?” Minho muttered under his breath, grabbing a mop from the bathroom. 

He’d only begun to mop the kitchen floor when he caught a whiff of it, and his eyes settled on the forgotten pizza. He froze, his mouth slightly open as he breathed in the glorious smell of melted cheese. To his dismay, his stomach began to growl in anticipation. Slowly, as though approaching a bomb, he used a finger to lift the lid on the box slightly. He groaned. Pepperoni and mozzarella. He wondered if it would be too rude to eat a slice after chasing out the owner of the pizza. 

His mouth watering, he looked guiltily at one of Jisung’s posters. With his head slightly tilted and his gaze piercing, Jisung seemed to look at Minho disapprovingly. 

“I know, I know,” Minho rolled his eyes. “I’m supposed to be on a diet for you.” With a sigh, he let the lid fall closed, but the tormenting smell remained. There was no way he could have that temptation in his apartment any longer.

He stepped into the hallway, eyeing Chan’s door cautiously. He debated how to go about this. He could just leave the pizza outside his door and hope that he’d find it at some point. Or he could just knock and give the pizza to him. 

He settled for the former, as the latter option seemed too much of an effort. It only took ten steps for him to reach the door, making him realize just how narrow the hallway actually was. 

He was about to leave the box on the floor, when – 

“Yo, dude.”

Minho jumped in surprise, eyeing the male leaning against the wall next to him. He wore a plain black hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head, but not far enough to hide the mop of red hair. He had a bright red backpack slung over his shoulder. “Who are _ you _ ?” Minho questioned.

But the redhead just frowned, lifting the lid of the box to see what it held. He hummed at the sight of the pepperoni pizza. “It’s cold,” he frowned. “Does that mean it’s free?”

“What?” Minho looked at him blankly.

The boy ignored him, tapping on Chan’s door. “Yo, Chan, open up!”

It only took a few seconds for Chan to open the door. He looked in confusion from Minho to the redhead. “Jeongin,” he sighed. “You’re a bit late. Come in.”

The redhead gave Minho a onceover before stepping into the apartment. “Pizza’s cold,” he told Chan. “Make sure you don’t pay the full amount. And don’t give him a tip either.”

“I am  _ not _ a pizza delivery person!” Minho spluttered. “I just came to give this  _ person _ his pizza!” He shoved the box into Chan’s hands. He only just managed to grab hold of it.

The redhead – Jeongin – turned to look at Minho. “Isn’t that what pizza delivery is though?”

Chan shook his head in exasperation. “Jeongin, go inside and take out your physics book. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sorry,” he gave Minho a sheepish grin. “I’m his tutor, kind of. Thank you for bringing this,” he gestured to the pizza. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“Nope, too unhealthy,” Minho repeated his answer from earlier, ignoring the angry protests from his stomach. 

Chan chuckled. “Maybe if we scatter some lettuce over it…”

Minho scrunched his nose. “Lame joke.”

“He’s the king of lame jokes,” Jeongin reappeared next to Chan, smoothly lifting the pizza box out of Chan’s hands and into his own, before disappearing back inside.

“Kid’s probably hungry,” Chan grinned nervously. “I probably should go back in too - sorry.”

“This conversation wasn’t exactly thriving, but alright,” Minho shrugged, stalking off to his own apartment. 

He’d only just shut his apartment door when he heard the notification on his laptop. Speedily, he plopped down onto the carpet, his eager eyes scanning the screen.

**Bob Ent. OFFICIAL STATEMENT:**

**Dear fans,**

**We are aware of the rumors circulating about Han Jisung after a very unfortunate interview. While Jisung’s sexuality is a private matter, we would on behalf of Jisung, like to disclose that he is in fact bisexual. Jisung has our support in all aspects of his life, and we hope that you as his fans will provide the same support too.**

Minho squealed in delight, rolling on the carpet like he’d just won the lottery.  _ Bisexual, huh? _ He’d take that. He’d always been disappointed that Jisung had never paid much attention to his male fans. He doted on the female ones. But now that he was out, male fans, like Minho, would probably be receiving just as much attention. 

It had been seven years since Minho discovered Jisung. He was just a fifteen year old, lonely, depressed kid, but the then thirteen year old musician had changed his life. You would have thought that despite living in the same city as Jisung, Minho would have seen him a few times already – at concerts, at fan signs, or at the company which was just down the street! But Minho had just been waiting for the perfect moment. And now that he knew he had a chance with Jisung, he was going to make that moment happen. 


	4. Chapter 4

Jisung was used to it, but it hurt his eyes all the same. Bright flashes of light illuminated him in the dark backdrop of the Bob Entertainment building. Screams from the fans and interview requests from reporters all melded into inaudible chaos. 

He plastered a smile on his face, too tired to make eye contact with anyone. Silently, he made his way to the car. The security personnel flanked them on either side, creating a clear path for them. 

He didn’t know why he did it. He  _ never _ looked back. Looking back was the sign of someone who wasn’t confident. But he did it that evening. He looked back over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw the blonde frozen in place a few steps behind him. “Idiot,” Jisung muttered under his breath.

He reached behind him, taking a handful of the tall male’s t-shirt. He was relieved when Hyunjin allowed him to pull him along. They didn’t need any delays. Right now, Jisung just needed to be curled up in his bed.

As they neared the car Jisung could see now that several of the cameras were pointed at Hyunjin instead of him _ . Distraction indeed _ . While he was glad to be relieved of the spotlight, there was something that made him innately crave the attention. 

He scowled as he slid into the backseat, Hyunjin sliding in beside him. “You could’ve sat in the front,” he said, lying back against the seat, his eyes closed. “You  _ should _ have sat in the front.” He waited for a response, but the lack of one made him turn to the blonde, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

Hyunjin looked drained. His chest heaved up and down and he blinked rapidly, his nails digging into the denim of his jeans. 

_ Oh.  _

Jisung couldn’t remember his first encounter with the cameras. He was only thirteen at the time. But he imagined that seven years ago he would have been somewhat excited. He could see flashes of it in his mind – waving excitedly at the cameras, every smile genuine, nothing forced, stopping to talk to reporters… It was different now. 

And he knew it was a different experience for Hyunjin. Managers weren’t _ supposed _ to be the focus of any media gathering. They weren’t prepared for it – they didn’t  _ want _ it _ . But this is his purpose _ , Jisung reminded himself before he could sympathize with the male. Hyunjin was here to take the media focus away from Jisung, and Jisung would let him – until he wasn’t needed anymore. 

“Get over it,” Jisung frowned. “You can’t freeze like that every time. You have to intrigue them. Make them  _ like _ you. Make them want to know more about you.”

Finally, Hyunjin turned his attention to Jisung, but only for a few seconds, before he relaxed into the seat, looking out of the window.

Jisung gave the driver instructions to stop at a nearby restaurant. He handed the driver a wad of cash. “Salad – whatever kind. I don’t care. Just make sure that there’s some protein. No dressing.”

As an afterthought he asked Hyunjin if he wanted anything but the male just shook his head.

They waited in silence for the driver to return. Jisung opened Twitter on his phone and scrolled through several of his fansite accounts. To his dismay, almost all of the photos were of Hyunjin. He was about to close the app in annoyance when he saw several of the fansites retweeting a link. He scrunched up his nose, hesitating before clicking.

His eyes widened when he was taken to a blog post titled  _ Hwang Hyunjin: What We Know So Far.  _

He grew more and more agitated as he scrolled through the post.

_ Welcome to my first blog post! This is just a general overview of what we know about Hwang Hyunjin thus far.  _

_ Age: 21 _

_ Place of birth: Seoul, South Korea _

_ Occupation: Former dance instructor at Regime Dance Academy _

_ Qualifications: Majored in dance at Starlim high school _

_ Active social media accounts: None. However, I have managed to dig up some of his inactive accounts.  _

_ Twitter: JinJin14  _

_ All but two of his posts were deleted. _

_ Instagram: JinJin_14  _

_ All but one post was deleted. _

_ More information will be added soon! _

_ Have a great night, _

_ Anonymous _

His cheeks heating up at the pictures, Jisung quickly closed the website, feeling as though he’d been viewing pornographic material. He shook his head, trying to focus on the matter at hand. And the matter was that it had been around 30 minutes since the fans had seen Hyunjin leaving with him. There was no way someone would have set up an entire blog dedicated to Hyunjin, and acquired all that personal information in that short amount of time. He wondered who from the company had been leaking information to fans.

He snuck a glance at Hyunjin who appeared to be napping, probably exhausted from the few seconds he’d had to face the cameras. Jisung hoped everything would be too overwhelming for Hyunjin. He’d give it three days max before Hyunjin would hand in his resignation. Actually, Jisung hoped it would happen sooner.

Hyunjin woke up just as the car rolled to a stop outside Jisung’s house. 

“Sleeping Beauty,” Jisung chided.

Hyunjin shot him an annoyed look. “Does that mean you kissed me to wake me up?”

Jisung immediately began to blush, and wordlessly jumped out of the car. He didn’t expect that one to backfire that way.

He could see straightaway that his manager’s – ex-manager’s things had already been removed from his house. “This is how it’ll work,” he said, whipping around to face Hyunjin, who was looking around with wide eyes. “Your room is that way,” he pointed to the left. “I assume your stuff is already there. Use the kitchen to do whatever you want. I just use it to store my junk food. Your room has a bathroom so there’s no need for you to be upstairs at all. Do whatever you want downstairs. Upstairs is mine. You got that?”

“Is your secret lair upstairs?” Hyunjin sniggered. “The place where you plan world domination?”

Jisung rolled his eyes. There was nothing much upstairs – just a bunch of unused furniture. He just didn’t want Hyunjin in his space. “Someone should email you my schedule soon. Make sure I get things done, yeah?”

“Sounds a lot like babysitting,” Hyunjin snorted, examining the contents of the kitchen cupboard. 

“Babysitting?” Jisung raised his eyebrows. “Listen, if you don’t like your job, quit. We’ll find someone more capable.”

He threw his unopened salad into the trash and grabbed a slab of chocolate from the cupboard. Hyunjin looked at him in surprise. “Was there something wrong with the salad?”

“No,” Jisung shrugged. “I just want chocolate.”

Hyunjin stared. “Then why throw the salad?”

“Because I don’t like salad. Why the interrogation, huh?” Jisung narrowed his eyes. In all honesty, he always ordered a salad as a decoy. He knew the driver reported straight to the company. They were less likely to investigate what Jisung was eating at home if he made a show of ordering something healthy from outside. He wasn’t supposed to be having anything remotely unhealthy. He wasn’t about to tell Hyunjin any of that though.

“That’s a really bratty thing to do – wasting food.”

“Oh really?” Jisung laughed, shoving a chunk of hazelnut chocolate into his mouth. “Are you trying to be my moral compass now?” he asked, his cheeks stuffed with sugary goodness.

Hyunjin shook his head as he grabbed a packet of noodles. “I guess that’s how all you celebrities are.”

“Oh but you’re a celebrity too,” Jisung smirked, leaning against the counter. “Haven’t you noticed? Twitter is screaming about you.”

Hyunjin gave him a pained look. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

“It’s your job now,” Jisung shrugged. “You asked for it the moment you signed that contract. You should think about making a Twitter account. Or Instagram. All stars need social media”

Hyunjin ripped the packet open. “I’m not a star.”

“You  _ are _ a star, Hyunjin,” Jisung gave him a smug smile. “A shooting star.” He mimicked the path of a shooting star with his finger, creating an arch in the air. “You’re going to be in the spotlight for a little while. And when we’re all done with you, you’re going to disappear and people are going to forget you existed.”

Hyunjin whipped around to face him. “Why do you have to be such a –” He was interrupted by a beeping sound. “My phone,” Hyunjin muttered, taking the device out of his pocket.

Jisung hung around, nibbling on his chocolate, curious about who was calling. He didn’t know anything about the male. Did he have family in Seoul? Lots of friends?

Hyunjin was obviously trying to keep his voice low, but Jisung could just about make out what he was saying.

“No,” he said. “Look, I told you, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes, leaning over the counter to hear better. Hyunjin had his back to him, which muffled some of the conversation.

“There’s nothing more to say, really,” Hyunjin went on. 

He could hear the frustration in his voice. Jisung too, was beginning to get frustrated. No one enjoyed listening to one side of a conversation.

“Just because I forgave you, it doesn’t make it okay.”

Half of Jisung’s body was now stretched onto the counter, and if Hyunjin had to turn around it would be difficult to explain his position. But he needed to satisfy his curiosity. There were a few things he’d learned so far _ . One, Hyunjin was angry at someone. Two, someone did something to Hyunjin that required forgiveness. Three, Hyunjin had apparently forgiven this person but was still upset.  _

“Why are you crying?” Hyunjin ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “I told you, its fine. I’m fine.” 

_ Four, Hyunjin was terrible at consoling people _ .

“No, I  _ can’t _ ,” Hyunjin almost yelled into the phone. “I can’t meet you right now. I can’t meet you any time soon.”

_ Five, Hyunjin had a short fuse _ .

“Well yeah, I’m still angry! Wouldn’t you be?!” 

Oh now he was really angry. Jisung leaned over just a bit more. His feet were in the air now.

“I trusted you,” Hyunjin said softly.

Jisung’s eyes widened, and he wondered what he would do if Hyunjin burst into tears. He sounded pretty close to it. 

“Because you’re an idiot! That’s why!”

Oh, he’s angry again. Jisung was somewhat relieved.

“And I understand. You couldn’t resist the temptation, and it just happened. But I need some time to get over it, okay?”

The pieces were beginning to fit together in Jisung’s mind now.

“Yeah, I miss you too. But I don’t think I want to see you any time soon.”

So it was exactly as Jisung suspected. Hyunjin had been cheated on by a boyfriend and now wanted some time apart. This was all very interesting to Jisung – like a real life k-drama. He himself had never gotten the opportunity to date. He wasn’t allowed, of course.

When Hyunjin hung up, it was so unexpected that Jisung didn’t have time to get off the counter.

He stared at Jisung. “Han Jisung, what are you doing?”

“Umm,” Jisung stretched his arms out in front of him. “Exercise.”

“Exercise?” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “On the kitchen counter?”

Jisung scowled. “It’s my house. I can do whatever I want wherever I want. If I want to exercise on the counter or dance in the sink or climb the walls, I will.”

Hyunjin made a face. “Please don’t dance in the sink. And I’d  _ love _ to see you try climbing the walls.”

He watched Hyunjin empty noodles into a bowl. The blonde locked eyes with Jisung for a moment, and his gaze flickered between the noodles and Jisung. 

Jisung wondered if he was about to offer him some, which he would decline of course. But Hyunjin just shook his head and filled a glass with water.

“Rude of you not to offer.”

Hyunjin raised his eyebrows. “I’m your manager – not your cook. If you want to eat something, Han Jisung, cook it for yourself.”

Jisung glowered at him.

“You really call that exercise?” Hyunjin asked, sipping on water and observing Jisung on the counter. 

“Of course.” Jisung slid off the counter and stretched his arms which were actually beginning to ache. “When you have a busy career you have to find creative ways to exercise. You can’t expect me to spend hours working out like you do,” he rolled his eyes.

Hyunjin stared at him. “How do you know I spend hours working out?”

Jisung froze. “Oh. Well. Your umm your body, you know,” and he could feel his cheeks heating up. “I mean it’s pretty obvious when you umm stand up straight and umm yeah it’s pretty visible and your umm structure and stuff and um yeah.” Jisung could have kicked himself. The last thing he wanted was for Hyunjin to know that he had been looking at his pictures on that damned blog. 

Hyunjin chewed in silence, his eyes narrowed. With an imperceptible shake of his head, he made his way out of the kitchen.

Jisung watched him leave, and as soon as he was out of sight, he stuck his head in the fridge. Because his cheeks were way too warm for his comfort.

When he’d cooled down, he fished his phone out of his pocket, trying to remember every detail from the one sided conversation he overheard. Remembering the blog, he found the site and scrolled through, his face falling when there was nothing new. He wondered if this anonymous fan would be able to uncover anything about Hyunjin’s love life. 

Jisung huffed. Oh well, he’d have to find another source of entertainment. But a part of him remained curious. What kind of person would Hyunjin date? Would they be as good looking as Hyunjin? Less? More? Would they be into dance like he is? Would they be just some ordinary guy? A shopkeeper? A student?

For some reason, he couldn’t imagine Hyunjin dating anyone ordinary. And that confused him – because Hwang Hyunjin was nothing extraordinary.


	5. Chapter 5

Minho knew he had to eventually stop hitting the snooze button on his alarm. He rose out of bed groggily rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep with all the planning he needed to do. 

He’d poured over Jisung’s upcoming schedule, making note of all the opportunities he had to make himself known to Jisung. He had to be smart about it. He couldn’t just show up like the hundreds of other fans wherever Jisung went. He didn’t want Jisung to just look at him, he didn’t want to just be acknowledged and then forgotten. 

He wanted time to stop for Jisung, for something to stir in his heart, for him to realize that Minho has been the one he’d been waiting for. It had to be  _ perfect _ . 

And the perfect opportunity was going to present itself at a fashion show where Jisung would be performing in a few days. Minho knew exactly how to gain access to such a prestigious event, but it was going to take a whole lot of groveling. 

He stared at the new diet sheet he’d printed last night and hung on the refrigerator. He needed to look extra good for Jisung. He looked longingly at the chocolate cereal in a box on the counter, and grabbed an apple instead. He had to have willpower – for Jisung.

On his way out of the apartment, he noticed that the new guy’s door – Chim? Chon? Chan! – was closed, and while a few clutters and clangs could be heard from the other apartments, an eerie silence emanated from Chan’s. “Probably one of those who sleep in until lunch time,” Minho scoffed before turning down the hallway, wrapping his blue faux fur scarf around his neck.

He’d just reached the elevator when he had to hastily step backwards. The doors slid open and Minho prepared himself to politely greet one of the oldies. But was presented with the sight of the new neighbor instead. 

Chan was dressed in black running shorts and a sleeveless black t-shirt. His hair was pushed back by a headband. Sweat dribbled down the side of his head and along his neck, soaking into his already wet t-shirt. 

“Hey,” he greeted with a smile. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know,” Minho shrugged. “Why don’t you take a look?”

Chan didn’t seem put off by Minho’s sarcasm, but laughed instead. “Good one. You umm… You off to work?” He eyed Minho’s outfit. It was almost imperceptible, but Minho could’ve sworn he was checking him out. 

He inwardly berated himself for having such a thought. Chan had probably just spotted the new brown leather boots he’d gotten on sale the other day – they were lovely. He knew better than to think that every friendly male had an interest in him. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t approached by men or women often. He was fairly good looking, he knew that. Most of it he was born with, but he’d also worked quite hard to keep the weight off, and build just the slightest amount of muscle in the right places. It was all very exhausting, but would be worth it when Jisung finally set sight on him. 

“Yeah,” Minho nodded, busying himself with studying the peeling wallpaper in the hallway. “I should probably get going now.”

“Is the sink giving you any trouble?” Chan asked, shaking his wet t-shirt so it wouldn’t stick to his body.

Minho cleared his throat. “Of course not. You’d be fixing it again right now if it was. I don’t take slackers lightly.” 

He turned his nose up and stepped into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before he checked out his reflection. “Do I look cute? Yes, I look cute.”

He made sure he had his most charming smile on his face as he approached his supervisor. “Mr Hye,” he greeted the man who looked at him reproachfully. “Good morning!”

His manager eyed him distastefully. “Lee Minho, get to work.”

“Of course,” Minho smiled. “But I was wondering about that fashion show coming up… You know, sir, the charity one.”

“What about it?” the slim man looked at him suspiciously.

“The designers always need makeup artists, and you always volunteer the ones from our store, don’t you?” Minho tried to look as innocent as possible. 

“Well, yes,” the manager shrugged. “It’s for charity and it’s the least we can do. For the orphans, you know.”

“It’s wonderful, honestly,” Minho conjured up tears like he’d practiced, and looked at his supervisor in adoration. “I’d give anything to be a part of that.”

The supervisor seemed to know what he was getting at and raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t a makeup artist. You are simply in the store to direct customers to the correct aisle where our  _ actual _ experts help them.”

Minho tried to keep his façade. “Now now, sir,” he pouted. “You know most of your regular customers come straight to me instead of your  _ actual _ experts.”

And he knew that his manager wouldn’t be able to deny it. He never went to school for it like the makeup artists employed here, but he could tell you exactly what shade and which brand you needed with just a glance.

“You’ve never shown interest in a promotion before,” Mr Hye scratched his beard. 

“Like you said,” Minho smiled. “It’s for the orphans…”

Mr Hye still seemed too doubtful.

“I wouldn’t mind just being an assistant,” Minho tried. “You know, passing along the brushes and things…”

When Minho could see that his request was about to be turned down he added, “I’ll work weekends without pay.”

Now the manager looked convinced. “Done,” he smiled. “For the orphans, eh?”

“For the orphans,” Minho agreed, filled to the brim with joy. He was going to see Jisung soon.

Minho made a conscious effort to work hard that day. He approached customers before they approached him, and even smiled at them. He kept his insults to a bare minimum, only pointing out a soon-to-be-bride’s awful choice of hair color when he felt it was absolutely necessary. He’d also cut down his ranting about poor working conditions, and instead praised the wonderful ambience of the store and his amazing co-workers. He could tell that his manager didn’t know what to make of him when he gave him a cheery wave goodbye at the end of the day.

He decided to skip the walk home and instead took a cab. He was just too excited for the next stage of his plan. And there were only three days left until the fashion show!

He tapped his foot impatiently as he rode the elevator up to his apartment. But as soon as the doors opened, he felt as though he’d got off on the wrong floor. He double checked the highlighted number and was surprised to see that he wasn’t mistaken.

He walked with trepid footsteps, the sound of the music getting louder as he neared the end of the hallway. “What the…”

The music was loud, peculiar sounding, and the constant tremor of the walls made him feel like he’d just stepped into a nightclub. 

As he reached his apartment, it became clear that the music was emanating from the new guy’s apartment. Minho rolled his eyes.  _ So he’s a noisy neighbour? _ Just what he needed…  _ not _ . He shook his head at the strange music and turned the key in his lock. If the music didn’t stop in… He checked his watch. He’d give it thirty more minutes. If the music didn’t stop in thirty minutes, he’d have to complain.

He threw his bag onto the couch and stretched his arms, heading straight for the closet. This time, he wasn’t interested in a bundle. 

He reached behind the bundles, pulling out a few hangers, from which hung three months’ worth of his wages. But Jisung was worth every penny and more.

The grey Armani jacket was double-breasted and made from micro-houndstooth jacquard fabric. It was a contemporary piece that Minho selected because it accentuated every curve of his body perfectly. The white shirt was a slim fit, chosen because it was made with cotton that gave it the chintz effect that Minho had seen on Jisung several times. The Dolce and Gabbana jeans were jet-black had a leather carabiner that hooked onto a belt hoop, as well as leather appliques. When he’d purchased the jeans they’d fit him perfectly, his legs kept snug by the fabric. He just hoped everything still fit as he remembered them to fit. It had been a year and half since he’d last tried the outfit on. 

With as much gentleness as he could, he slipped the clothes on. He prayed he wouldn’t accidentally rip anything. Standing in front of the mirror, his eyes lit up at the sight of himself. He looked perfect! He just hoped Jisung would think so too. 

Before he ruined anything, he began slipping the jacket off his shoulders. But then he heard three soft knocks on the door. He scowled and slipped the jacket back on. This wasn’t just any jacket you could throw around.

Chan’s jaw dropped as soon as Minho opened the door. And that’s how Minho was reassured that he looked good. He stood with folded arms waiting for the curly haired male to talk.

But Chan simply blinked, opening his mouth as if to say something, but lacking in speech capabilities. 

“You want something?”

This seemed to snap Chan out of his daze. “You – you’re um… You…”

“If you don’t tell me what you want in the next five seconds I’m going to shut the door –”

“I just wanted to apologize,” Chan said quickly.

Minho tilted his head. “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for but if it’s for moving in opposite me, your apology is accepted – as long as you move out soon.”

“Actually,” Chan gave him a confused look. “I was apologizing because I went out to get some food and Jeongin was alone and well, you heard the music…”

“You left your student alone in your apartment while you went out to get food?” Minho looked at him skeptically. “Not very smart.”

“Ah,” Chan laughed away the insult. “He’s old enough to be by himself – he’s in his first year of college, you know. And he’s my protégée,” he added with a smile.

“What protégée?” Minho raised his eyebrows. “Are you some kind of physics genius?” He remembered Chan telling Jeongin to get his physics book ready.

“No, no, “Chan chuckled. “He struggles a bit with physics so I help. But he’s my DJ’ing protégée. I’m teaching him the ropes.”

“You DJ?” Minho asked in surprise. “Like at clubs?”

“Yeah,” Chan grinned. “If you’d like to come by sometime –”

“Oh absolutely not!” Minho looked repulsed. “Me at a club? And just to watch you DJ? No thanks.”

He whipped around, preparing to shut the door on Chan once again, but –

“Minho?”

He turned around to look at the blonde. “Yes?”

“You don’t know me enough not to like me,” Chan bit his lip. “There’s no way you can judge someone that fast. And I… don’t  _ think _ I’ve done anything wrong anyway. So why are you pretending to dislike me? Are you like this with everyone?”

Minho felt his stomach begin to churn and a wave of nausea hit him, forcing the bile to slowly make its way up his throat. “I just don’t like you,” he managed before shutting the door.


	6. Chapter 6

_ Hwang Hyunjin – Prized dance teacher _

_ Hello fellow Hyunjin fans! _

_ I have some new info today! Sources at Regime Dance Academy have provided us with a clip of Hyunjin teaching dance to one of the advanced classes (see below for clip). Apparently Hyunjin was well-loved by the students. These sources also say that Hyunjin was a very private person who never spoke about his family or friends. He would always decline invitations to staff parties. One source did say that Hyunjin did admit to being gay and also mentioned dating someone. He was, however, very secretive about who it was. Who is Hyunjin’s secret boyfriend?  _

_ In other news, my sources have also told me that Hyunjin is set to choreograph a few songs from Jisung’s upcoming album. We’ll see how true it is in the weeks to come. _

Jisung reread the article, his jaw dropping open. There was no way this person could have known that Hyunjin would be choreographing for him if their source wasn’t someone in the Bob Entertainment management team. There was also the matter of the very provocative dance clip that this person had somehow managed to procure overnight.

When he trudged downstairs, his feet bare and his hair a messy mop, he immediately felt like going back upstairs. Hyunjin had his back to him, cooking something on the stove. It was obvious that he’d already showered, and was now dressed in plain blue jeans and a black shirt, neatly tucked in. His hair was still damp, a few tendrils loose. Jisung felt like a potato. Why couldn’t he dress in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt like every other manager?

So Jisung did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed a bag of chips from the cupboard, startling Hyunjin who jumped in fright, the egg in the frying pan jumping with him, but landing safely back in the pan. 

“I didn’t realize you were here,” Hyunjin said, clutching his chest. “God, try not to give me a heart attack.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, taking a seat at the kitchen counter and opening the bag of chips. It was cheese flavored – his favorite. 

Hyunjin scooped the egg onto a plate and stared at him. “Today you have a rehearsal for some fashion show. I thought you’d be ready to leave by now, but you haven’t even showered.”

Jisung looked at him blankly, trying to show as little concern as possible. 

“Didn’t they text you last night? They said they would. We’re supposed to leave at 9am. The car will be here in ten minutes.”

“Yeah they texted,” Jisung shrugged. 

“So then?”

“So then?” Jisung raised his eyebrows. “It’s your job to wake up so that I can be ready on time.”

“But – but you have an alarm, don’t you?” Hyunjin spluttered, waving the spatula about.

“Why would I use an alarm when  _ you’re  _ here?” Jisung shook his head before stuffing more chips into his mouth.

“That’s ridiculous!” Hyunjin countered. “It’s not that hard to set an alarm! And anyway, you told me I’m not allowed upstairs so how am I supposed to wake you up?”

Jisung shrugged. “You have a phone so use it. You have a voice too, so if I don’t pick up, I’m sure it’ll be useful.” Now, Jisung knew he was being ridiculous. But there was just something about this oh so perfect human with oh so perfect hair and oh so perfect eyes and oh so perfect lips and oh so perfect body that made him want to push his buttons until he snapped.

He watched Hyunjin carefully, waiting for a sign that he was going to whack Jisung over the head with the spatula, or let out a string of curse words. But Hyunjin simply glared before taking his plate and marching to the dining room.

Jisung looked into the half empty bag of chips and cringed. He hadn’t meant to eat that much. He just got so stressed out sometimes. He’d have to take care of it the only way he knew how, or his clothes for the fashion show were never going to fit. 

He made his way to the bathroom, locking the door even though he knew Hwang wouldn’t dare step foot upstairs. Like always, he locked away his conscience which tried to convince him to do otherwise, before he dropped to his knees beside the toilet. 

It was 9:42 by the time Jisung was ready and he made sure to walk extra slowly to the car that was waiting outside. By the time they were seated inside, the look on Hyunjin’s face told him that was probably ready to file his resignation papers. Jisung hoped that was the case.

“You can file your resignation papers at the Bob building. Should I tell the driver to leave you there?”

Hyunjin looked confused. “Why would I resign?”

“Oh,” Jisung scowled. “I thought this was too much for you.”

Hyunjin shook his head. “You think I didn’t have to put up with brats at the dance academy? I just hoped you’d behave like an adult, considering you’re supposed to be one.”

“Are you calling me a brat?” Jisung sat up straight and glared at him. “You know that counts as verbal abuse, right?”

“You gonna report me?” Hyunjin scoffed. “I have a few things to report too. Like that pile of chocolates in the cupboards, and all those packets of chips. Is that supposed to be a part of your diet, Han Jisung?”

Jisung stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare. And – and anyway, no one would believe you. I haven’t gained any weight.”

Jisung realized that maybe he shouldn’t have drawn attention to that fact. Because now, Hyunjin’s scrutinizing gaze was scanning his body. He squirmed in his seat, shifting so that he was facing the window, his back to Hyunjin.

“I thought we already discussed that you wouldn’t be sitting in the back with me,” he muttered.

“That wasn’t a discussion,” Hyunjin scoffed. “It was you telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. It’s a good thing I’m not here to take orders from you.”

Jisung whipped around to glare at him.  _ The audacity of this guy… _

“And if you don’t want us sitting together, Han Jisung,” Hyunjin went on, “I’m sure the driver will enjoy your company in the front.”

Jisung bristled. “Excuse m –”

The car rolled to a stop outside the venue for the fashion show and a flurry of screaming Acorns emerged. It took a matter of seconds for security to push them back away from the car. “Let’s go,” Jisung sighed, glancing back at Hyunjin who seemed to be bracing himself.

Jisung led the way through the parted crowd, cameras flashing in his wake. He’d only walked a few steps when again, to his annoyance, he was tempted to look back over his shoulder. And sure enough, Hyunjin was frozen in place again.

Jisung swore under his breath and reached out to grab his shirt, but of course, it was tucked in. A pink blush colored Jisung’s cheeks as he gripped Hyunjin’s belt instead, pulling him forward. He couldn’t help but notice that several cameras were trained solely on Hyunjin. He felt a flare of jealousy. 

As soon as they were inside the building and the crowd was out of sight, Jisung turned on him. “What is  _ wrong _ with you?” Jisung scowled. “You froze  _ again _ , Hwang! Do you do it on purpose? Do you just want the cameras to linger on you? Is that it?”

Hyunjin looked taken aback, and Jisung began to second-guess himself. “Why would I want  _ that _ ?” Hyunjin asked. “Why would  _ anyone _ want all that?”

_ Because it makes me feel special _ , Jisung wanted to say. He shook his head, turning around. “Come on.”

Jisung listened the stage director explain what they needed him to do on the catwalk. He tried to keep an eye on Hyunjin who was engaged in conversation with a familiar brunette from Bob Entertainment – the annoying intern, Dowoon. Jisung wondered what other awful suggestions he had up his sleeve.

He went into one of the changing rooms set up backstage and looked at the outfit they wanted him to wear. It was a rather sparkly blue suit. He made a face of disgust but sighed in resignation. That was fashion, he supposed.

Reluctant to step out in the blue mass of sequins, he just stood idly for a few seconds, contemplating how best to avoid dying from embarrassment. His stomach chose that moment to remind him of how empty it was and he ignored its plea for food.

He heard a vibrating sound and began to look for the source, realizing after a few seconds that it came from his jeans which he’d left to hang on one of the hooks. He reached into the pocket and pulled out his phone. 

He smiled slyly when he saw it was a notification from that Hyunjin blog. Intent on wasting time, he leaned against the wall and clicked on the notification.

_ News Just In! _

_ Hi Hyunjin fans! _

_ It seems a few Hyunjin fansites have popped up overnight. I’ve attached links to their twitter profiles where you can view the photos they’ve taken. We’ve also petitioned Regime Dance Academy to release to the public Hyunjin’s choreography videos. Let’s hope they give in. I can’t wait to see more of him dancing! He’s just so talented. _

Jisung was distraught. How could his manager –  _ yes, his manager _ – have fansites? It was ridiculous, unheard of, and  _ absolutely _ absurd. And on top of that, even more horrifying, was that they might see more videos of Hyunjin dancing. From the three second clip Jisung had seen in the previous post, he could tell that it wouldn’t be good news for him. They already thought Hyunjin was talented. He could just imagine the catastrophe unfolding before his eyes. They would be comparing Hyunjin’s dancing to Jisung’s. They’d call Jisung clumsy and untalented. Then he would be fired. And Hyunjin would take his place. It would be Hyunjin’s name on the billboards, not Jisung’s. 

But he’d worked too hard to let that happen. He’d need to act before everything was taken away from him.

He glanced at his clown-like outfit in the mirro and someone step into the change room next to him. He chuckled at the sound of repulsion from his neighbor. He too must have been given something sparkly.

“Do I seriously have to wear this?” 

And Jisung immediately recognized the voice – Seo Changbin. He had no idea that any other artists from the agency were going to be part of the fashion show. Changbin had joined the company shortly after Jisung. The CEO had originally planned to debut them as a duo but decided that they were better off as solo artists. 

“Yo, Changbin,” he chuckled. “What’s up?”

“Jisung?” he heard Changbin’s surprise. “Is yours completely ridiculous too?” he asked after a while.

“Yep,” Jisung groaned, making his way out of the change room. To his dismay, that happened to be the exact moment that Hyunjin entered the backstage area. 

His mouth dropped open as he surveyed Jisung’s outfit, and before Jisung could react, the taller male was howling with laughter.

“Oh shut up,” Jisung snapped, feeling like he should just tear the outfit into scraps.

“B-But –” Hyunjin tried to stifle his laughter but failed, clutching his stomach as he doubled over.

Jisung folded his arms and waited for him to finish. Luckily, Hyunjin immediately quieted down when the curtains to Changbin’s change room moved and the raven haired male stepped out.

Hyunjin gaped, his eyes widening.

_ Great, _ Jisung inwardly sighed _ . Now he’s star struck _ . Of course Changbin was popular. He’d released several albums and even played the lead in a drama, so it wasn’t surprising that Hyunjin was enamored by him. What he didn’t understand, was why Hyunjin would be so hostile towards him but so taken with Changbin. 

“This… is your new manager, right?” Changbin glanced at Jisung.

Jisung reddened, realizing that this was his first time seeing Changbin after Bob sent out the statement that he was bisexual. To his relief, Changbin didn’t seem to be looking at him any differently. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s Hwang.”

Changbin stepped forward and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you Mr. Hwang,” he smiled.

Jisung scowled. “There’s no need to be so nice to him,” he rolled his eyes and abruptly pushed down Changbin’s hand. “He’s just  _ temporary _ .”

Changbin tilted his head and observed Hyunjin. “I think you’ll find, Jisung, that everything in life is temporary.” And he held out his hand again. Jisung blanched. If it wasn’t bad enough that his fans were all consumed with Hyunjin, now Changbin was completely disregarding his words. 

Hyunjin shook his hand gingerly, his smile unsure. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Seo.”

_ Oh, so he gets to be called Mister while I’m just Han Jisung. _

To Jisung’s surprise, Changbin hesitated for a moment before drawing back his hand, as though he’d wanted to hold on for just a few beats longer. There was a strange tension between the two, despite them having just met. Jisung could feel it prickle his skin. 

“Oh, what are you wearing?” 

They all turned to the high pitched laugh. Leyeon, Changbin’s fiancé pointed to him and cackled. “They’re making you wear that? How awful!”

Changbin scowled at her. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you were the one wearing this.” Truth be told, Changbin’s outfit was hideous in a completely different way from Jisung’s. His bright orange suit was covered in frills that belonged in an old woman’s cottage.

Leyeon smirked. “But I bet I could actually pull it off.”

And she was right. With her fiery hair swinging behind her, and heels that made her, to Jisung’s amusement, at least a foot taller than Changbin, she sauntered towards them. “Hey, Jisung,” she offered him a smile. He’d worked with her on more than one occasion as co-hosts for a few shows. She was a talented actress and fairly good natured, but it had still come as a surprise when she and Changbin announced they were dating almost two years ago. 

Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Hyunjin who stood stoically to the side, his mouth set into a firm line, his hands shoved in his pockets. Jisung assumed he was probably feeling uncomfortable among such high profile people.  _ Well _ , he thought,  _ you can’t throw a fish onto land and expect it to grow legs. _

While Changbin and Leyeon chatted endlessly about their busy schedules, Jisung tried to think of how best to ruin the fashion show and blame it on Hyunjin. And while Jisung connived, he wasn’t oblivious to Hyunjin quietly slipping away into a secluded corner. 

The grim faced stage director directed Jisung and Changbin on exactly where to stand and which direction to walk. It was all very boring, rehearsing the same steps a million times along with twenty other models. Hyunjin stood idly in front of the stage, his presence simply annoying Jisung.

He looked bored with the whole thing, and Jisung supposed he would be too. Unlike his previous manager, Hyunjin didn’t pester the director for details and didn’t constantly have his phone in his hands. 

Jisung was used to this whole routine now. Enter through the right, down the catwalk, pause, pose, up the catwalk, exit through the left. Despite the building ache in his stomach he went through with the rehearsal.

That’s why he was stunned and took offense when the director’s voice boomed through the microphone. “Jisung, can you do something different? Strike a different pose?”

“What do you want me to do?” Jisung shrugged in annoyance. His stomach ache was growing and he wanted food and on top of that this balding guy had a problem with his pose.

The director looked at Hyunjin questioningly. “You’re his manager. You make him understand.” Hyunjin scratched his head and looked at Jisung. 

Jisung narrowed his eyes, trying to convey a warning. 

But Hyunjin was unbothered. “Don’t fold your arms,” he instructed Jisung. “And use your pockets.”

Jisung flushed red, the gaze of the other models weighing heavy on him. Well, this is embarrassing. He could understand how it looked – Han Jisung receiving modeling advice from his good looking manager who probably belonged on a runway himself.

He glared at Hyunjin, determined not to show how insulted he felt. It was in that moment that he decided, he was going to make sure Hwang Hyunjin was fired, and he was going to use the fashion show to do it. It was going to be embarrassing for Hyunjin on a massive scale, and Jisung was going to enjoy it.


	7. Chapter 7

Minho was feverish. It was the day before the fashion show and he’d never felt such anxiety before. He grabbed an apple off the counter before leaving his apartment. He’d timed his departure for exactly 7:15. That would mean that the annoying new neighbor would already be back from his run and had no chance of bumping into him. 

Of course he’d avoided the guy since he accused him of pretending to dislike him. To Minho’s annoyance, there was loud music emanating from the apartment and if it had been Minho’s day off he would have definitely called the landlord to tattle.

Unfortunately, as soon as he’d locked his apartment, the door opposite his, wrenched open. He jumped in surprise, and was relieved when it was just the protégée. 

“What?” he narrowed his eyes when he saw the boy staring at him, but his expression softened when he saw how wide his eyes were, the surface glistening with tears. “What happened?” he asked cautiously.

The boy’s lower lip trembled. “I think he’s dead.”

Chan was in fact, not dead.

“He isn’t dead,” Minho scrunched his nose, looking down at the sleeping male. “He’s just…” he sniffed the air and made a face. “Very drunk.”

Jeongin looked relieved. “Are you sure? He didn’t show up for our morning run. So I got here and found him like this. I tried waking him up with the music,” he gestured to the music blasting from the speakers. “And I even put that burger near his nose,” he gestured to the takeaway bag on the bedside table, “He usually wakes up straight away when he smells food. You know, because he loves food so much.”

Minho stared at the redhead. “Get me a glass of ice water and let me show you how it’s done.”

He waited for the boy to return with the water, using the time to take in the state of Chan’s room. It was messy,  _ but  _ it was an organized mess. Everything had a place. A pile of CD’s on one shelf, a pile of books on another, a heap of clothes behind the door and a vanity with hair products scattered on top – all the wrong hair products, Minho noted. The walls were almost bare, save for a vinyl record that hung on one side.

Chan slept soundly, and Minho could understand why the boy had been worried. He was very still, peaceful, the circles under his eyes visible for the first time. Minho couldn’t recollect seeing those circles before. He glanced at the vanity where sure enough, a bottle of concealer stood half empty. 

“Here you go,” Jeongin returned with the glass of water. 

Minho rolled up the sleeves of his sweater. “Watch and learn,” he smirked, before dumping the glass of water on Chan’s head. 

The blonde woke with a shriek, his eyes wide with shock. “What the fu –”

“There you go,” Minho gave Jeongin a smug smile. “That’s how it’s done.”

Chan’s jaw dropped when he saw Minho hovering over him. “You – what – I – here – how –”

“You were very drunk, Chan,” Jeongin said, his voice bland and his expression once more nonchalant. “You looked dead. But I guess you’re not.” It appeared that his concern and worry had dissipated. He dropped the takeaway bag on Chan’s lap. “I gotta get to class. See you later,” he switched the music off on his way out, not giving either of them another glance.

Chan stared after him with raised eyebrows before glancing at Minho. A blush covered his cheeks, making his pale skin turn red. “Umm… Sorry about that – this. Yeah, sorry,” he scratched the back of his head, a lopsided smile on his face.

Minho looked down at him with folded arms. “You get like this often?”

“No!” Chan said quickly, and much too loud. “I – I just… Last night was… It was just last night. I usually don’t drink that much.”

“Great,” Minho replied with a sardonic smile, making it known that he didn’t believe him. “I’m going to uh… Remove myself from your mess.”

“Thank you,” Chan blurted before he could leave. “Not for the rude awakening,” he chuckled, and Minho raised an eyebrow at this. “But for… You know… Caring enough to come in here and make sure I’m not dead.”

Minho huffed. “I don’t. I don’t care at all.” He whirled around to leave but caught sight of Chan’s reflection in the mirror. 

He was smiling. And it was a nice smile. But Minho didn’t like it. 

He’d wanted to get to work at least ten minutes early, like he had been for the past few days – a ploy to show his manager that he was the greatest employee. But today, because of Chan’s drunkenness, he’d arrived ten minutes late! 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, looking away from his manager’s angry gaze. “It was a family emergency,” he lied. “My – my uh – my husband almost died.” Minho clasped a hand over his mouth, amazed at his own stupidity. Why had he said such a thing?!

“Husband?” the manager looked at him in disbelief. “You got  _ married _ ? When?”

“Uhh…” Minho gulped. He couldn’t backtrack now. “L-Last month.” Again, he clasped a hand over his mouth. Why was he saying such ridiculous things?

“But – But…” Mr Hye spluttered. “You never said anything!”

“Well, sir,” Minho shrugged, his cheeks heating up. “I didn’t umm… I didn’t think we were that close,” he tried. 

Mr Hye seemed to consider this as he scratched his beard, and his eyes zeroed in on Minho’s hands. “But you’re not even wearing a ring,” he pointed out.

“Oh,” Minho tried to think of a quick response. “Money is tight, you know,” he rambled. “And we had to umm… We had to sell our rings to pay the rent.” He tried to sound sad.

Mr Hye nodded and surveyed the store, deep in thought. “Well, then,” he sighed. “I do try to take an interest in my employees’ wellbeing. When Anna got married, I contributed quite a bit to her wedding reception. And when Heejun got married I sent him and his wife to that nice resort in Incheon.” Minho wanted to point out that the thrifty man could probably afford something better than that.

“Anyway, congratulations, Minho,” the man clapped Minho on the shoulder in a startlingly kind gesture, offering a smile before turning to a customer.

Minho wiped the sweat off his brow. Despite the hideously big lie, that hadn’t gone half bad. And Minho reveled in the knowledge that he now had a non-existent husband to blame for things that went wrong. What a  _ lovely _ day!

It was even better when Mr Hye approached him around midday with a card. “It’s the least I could do,” he smiled. 

It was a reservation for two at one of the fine dining restaurants in town. It really was the  _ least _ he could do. Minho had been hoping for an all-expenses-paid trip to some exotic location. He thanked the manager anyway.

“It’s a reservation for tomorrow night!” the manager smiled. “You’ll be able to go immediately after the fashion show. And the food is amazing. I’ve tried it myself.”

And when Mr Hye placed another slip of paper in his hand, he raised his brows in confusion. “This… this is a ticket to the fashion show tomorrow. But… I’m working backstage, right?”  _ He had to _ .

“Of course, of course,” Mr Hye chuckled. “But I thought you might want your husband nearby. Young love and all that,” the old man winked. “He’d probably be in the way backstage, but I assumed he’d love a front row seat!”

Minho’s jaw dropped. 

“And it’s right next to my seat!” he chirped. “I’m looking forward to meeting this young man, Minho.”

Minho blinked, unable to close his mouth. “You umm… You want to meet him?”

“Of course,” Mr Hye chuckled, patting his shoulder again before departing.

Minho stared at the ticket in his hand. “Well, shit.”

He knocked on Chan’s door, for once hoping that he was home. Luckily the blonde who donned sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt opened the door on the fourth knock. 

“Oh,” he looked surprised to see Minho. “Is it the sink?”

Minho ignored his question. “You love food, right?”

Chan looked blank and Minho didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead he held out the restaurant reservation card.

Chan grasped onto it and read the words, his eyebrows rising slightly higher as his eyes passed over each word. His lips spread into a slow smile when he looked up at Minho. “Well, I’d love to.”

“What?” Minho had his hands on his hips now. “It’s not a date, maintenance man,” he clarified. “Do whatever you want with it.  _ I’m _ not going with you.” Then he raised an eyebrow in interest. He didn’t realize Chan was into guys. This won’t be a problem for him then.

“Oh… But why are you giving me this?” Chan asked, and he had the nerve to look disappointed.

Minho folded his arms. At least they’d arrived at the business end of things now. “Here’s the deal. You can have that,” he indicated the reservation card. “But you need to be my husband first.”

Chan shook his head in confusion. “You won’t date me, but you want to marry me?”

“Oh don’t be silly!” Minho snorted. “Why would I want to marry  _ you _ ? You’re just – you’re the only person I know well enough to ask to pretend to be my husband. I kind of told my boss I’m married and now he wants to meet my husband.”

“Oh,” Chan considered his words, his expression one of bewilderment. “Oh, I guess… I’m not sure. It’ll be kind of weird and… deceitful.”

“Deceitful?” Minho gaped. “Oh come on! Just disregard your moral compass for an hour or two. And look,” he showed him the ticket to the fashion show. “You get to attend this high class event where you can umm… make DJ connections and stuff,” he said in what he hoped was a persuasive tone.

“Surely, you have friends you can ask to do this for you?”

Minho felt a flush of embarrassment. His cheeks pink, he shook his head. “I umm… I don’t have friends.”

Chan stared at him for an agonizingly long minute. “Fine,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling. “I guess I can do it.”


	8. Chapter 8

They were backstage after another rehearsal, and Jisung was just reminded that he should be putting his get-rid-of-Hyunjin plan into action, spurred on by the latest blog post.

_ Hi, Hyunjin fans! _

_ Great news today. According to a waiter from a well-known restaurant in Seoul, Hyunjin had worked there part-time, when he was in high school. It was there that Hyunjin first started dating someone who the waiter would not name. Apparently, he’d been paid a large sum to keep the person’s name out of the media. Could Hyunjin have dated someone famous? A politician, perhaps? A movie star? A sportsman? Let’s hope we receive more news about this secret romance very soon. _

Jisung scoffed at the post. Hwang Hyunjin could have dated a movie star? How ridiculous. He wondered who was making up these silly rumors. In fact, he wouldn’t put it past Hyunjin to have started the blog about himself. He sniggered at the thought of Hyunjin making up all these rumors about himself. It’s exactly the kind of thing someone like Hyunjin would do – someone who was trying to usurp Jisung’s fame.

“Okay, listen up,” Jisung clapped his hands to get Hyunjin’s attention (and it was a completely unnecessary gesture, because Hyunjin was already staring at him with a put-off expression). “Let me explain how these events are done.”

“It’s just a fashion show,” Hyunjin shrugged, leaning against the wall.

“But it’s what happens  _ after _ the fashion show that really matters,” Jisung wiggled his eyebrows. “So after the fashion show, I will make my way to the private dressing area that should be set up for me. Now, Han Jisung’s dressing area isn’t just your  _ ordinary _ dressing-room. Take notes,” he narrowed his eyes and waited for Hyunjin to begin writing on the notepad he made him carry everywhere. 

“Scented candles – at least two – make sure they’re not too strong; a glass of chilled non-alcoholic champagne; a packet of kale chips – unsalted; and most importantly – to elevate my mood after a hard day’s work – two bouquets of begonias arranged neatly in vases.” 

“And I’m supposed to do all this for you?” Hyunjin looked at him in disdain. 

“That’s what you’re here for,” Jisung rolled his eyes. “Now listen, I’m not done, Hwang. There should be something set up in my dressing area for me to do a VLive with my fans. They love it when I talk to them.”

Hyunjin arched an eyebrow. “Because you’re such a bundle of joy?” he asked sarcastically. 

Jisung ignored his jibe. There would be time for revenge. “And –” this part was essential for his plan “– make sure that the VLive is already running when I get in so I can make a dramatic entrance.”

Hyunjin’s lips curved up at the corners. “Before or after you change out of the sparkly suit?”

Jisung looked around to make sure they were alone, before raising his middle finger and shooting Hyunjin a deathly glare. “Before,” he clarified. 

To his annoyance, the bothersome intern, Dowoon had shown up just then. 

“Jisung,” the intern smiled so wide that it made Jisung cringe. “I hope I’m not taking too much of your time.”

“Actually, you are –”

“So anyway, our CEO is wondering when you’re going to start work on the next album. It’s been two months since your last comeback, you know. And you haven’t written anything that we know of, so…” he smirked at Jisung who wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

“I’ve written stuff,” Jisung lied, taking a swig of water. “Lots of stuff. I just – I just need some time to finalize what I’ve written.” In all honesty, Jisung was going through writer’s block – no, it wasn’t that. He knew that if he put his mind to it, he could write. But he just… lacked motivation.

The way in which Dowoon looked at him told him that he knew Jisung was lying. But he nodded. “Great. I’ll let him know you’re finalizing things. Also, just keep in mind that Hyunjin will be choreographing the songs fro, your new album. So…” Downoon smiled. “Maybe use him as a muse for your lyrics, if you’re… stuck.”

Jisung choked on his water. “Write a song using  _ him _ as my muse? I’d be better off using a trashcan as my muse.”

He glanced at Hyunjin who had skulked off into a corner, almost like he wanted to be invisible. It was all an act, Jisung new. The innocent, humble disposition was just a mask. The conniving fame-stealer was hidden beneath. 

The last rehearsal had taken longer than he expected (because of Dowoon’s interference) and by the time he made the driver stop for his decoy salad, they’d gotten home well after 6pm. He threw his salad into the trash, taking a large packet of salted caramel popcorn from the cupboard, and pouring himself a glass of strawberry milkshake. 

Hyunjin studied his movements speculatively. The blonde was currently tossing tomatoes and chicken into a pan. “Are you sure you should be eating like that every day?”

Jisung arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure you should be minding my business? Don’t worry, Hwang. I’ll make sure the clothes still fit.” 

“It’s not that,” Hyunjin frowned. “It’s just… not really good for your health.”

Jisung snorted. “And you suddenly care about my health? Give it a rest. I’ll eat what I want to eat. You’ve seen how I’ve eaten these past few days. Do you see me gaining weight?” he gestured to his flat stomach. “I know how to keep the weight off.”

Hyunjin bit his lip, his eyes downcast. “Yeah, I’ve seen how you eat. I’ve also noticed that you don’t work out. So how exactly are you keeping the weight off, Han Jisung?” He looked at Jisung now, his eyes holding an accusation that made the colour drain from Jisung’s face.

“High metabolism,” Jisung murmured, taking the popcorn and milkshake and retreating upstairs.

He hadn’t always been bulimic. He was fine when he was a kid – fifteen, sixteen… No one expected him to have the perfect body. But then the company started imposing strict dieting and exercise regimens. It was too restrictive for Jisung, so he’d begun eating junk food in secret – it was easy to order the stuff online. As far as the company knew, Jisung ordered clothes and games online, nothing more. It wasn’t long before his manager Yang Hyun Suk realized what was happening – he’d opened one of Jisung’s packages to find a large supply of chocolates. He told Jisung that it was okay to binge on junk food – as long as he found a way to keep the weight off. So Jisung did.

And Hwang Hyunjin wasn’t going to ruin that for him. God, he couldn’t wait to get rid of him – to ruin him, so that no matter what he said about Jisung, he’d never be believed.

Maybe Hyunjin really could be his muse. He grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen.  _ You want to make my life miserable _ , he began to write.  _ So I want to make your life miserable, and in our miserableness we will suffer. _

Jisung finished writing the song in under half an hour, re-read the lyrics, and squashed the paper into a ball before discarding it. It was rubbish. Hyunjin was a poor muse. And Jisung needed more popcorn.

He made his way downstairs, not expecting the kitchen light to be on. To his dismay, Hyunjin sat at the kitchen counter with his laptop. Jisung was about to pass a crude remark when he saw how red Hyunjin’s eyes were. He’d been crying. How awkward. 

He tried to make himself invisible as he rummaged in the cupboard, but he could feel the other male’s eyes on him. He groaned. The popcorn was right at the back and Jisung just wasn’t tall enough.

“Need help?”

Jisung frowned at the blonde. “No.” But he did. “Okay, fine. Get me the popcorn – since you’re just sitting there and doing nothing.” He folded his arms and looked at Hyunjin expectantly.

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, reaching into the cupboard. Jisung couldn’t help but notice how his blue pajama pants hung off his hips, and the grey t-shirt lifted up a few centimeters as he stretched, exposing the crevices on his torso, which Jisung had already seen several times in that silly blog. But seeing it in person was different… He blushed and averted his gaze. 

“This stuff is loaded with sugar,” Hyunjin said looking at the label before handing the packet to Jisung who scowled.

“Yeah, so what?” he scoffed. “I have a sweet tooth.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and sat down at the counter. 

“And why aren’t you in your bedroom anyway?” Jisung asked, pouring another glass of milkshake – chocolate this time. 

Hyunjin shrugged. “Wi-Fi is better in here.”

“Ah, you figured that out,” Jisung snorted. “Maybe you have a few brain cells after all,” he chided.

“Oh yeah?” Hyunjin closed his laptop. “I bet I have more brain cells than you do. I bet that glass of chocolate milkshake has more brain cells than you do.”

“Really?” Jisung rolled his eyes. “The bacteria in your hair have more brain cells than you!”

“My hair is clean,” Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair (and Jisung hated how good he looked while doing it). “I wash it every day, you know,” he sounded offended.

_ How vain _ . “Well, it’s not clean anymore.” He emptied half of the bag of popcorn onto his head.

“Han Jisung!” Hyunjin shrieked as he stood up. “That stuff has caramel on it! My hair!”

Jisung shrugged. “Sad.”

Hyunjin brushed off the popcorn. “Your behavior is so  _ ugh _ !”

Jisung smirked. “You’re lucky it wasn’t the milkshake – I love this stuff too much to waste it on you.”

He stalked off to his room, satisfied with himself, and feeling only a slight twinge of guilt when he remembered that Hyunjin had been crying.


	9. Chapter 9

Meeting Jisung was more than just meeting your favourite singer. It was more than meeting an idol. While the kids in Minho’s class all made cards for Parents’ Day, while they dressed up in cute costumes and stood on stage looking for the flash of a parent’s camera, while they sat in groups talking sharing the lunches their mothers had packed for them, while their parents stood outside waiting for the school bus to drop them off after a field trip, while they graduated and their parents’ cheers could be heard amongst the crowd… Minho had no one. 

He had no one to make cards for, no one to take pictures for, no one to pack his lunch, no one to wait for him after school trips, no one to cheer for him. His grandparents had never looked at him with pride or love, he’d never known affection from them because to them he was simply a symbol of his mother’s mistake, his mother’s disobedience, his mother’s absence. 

Until he found Jisung. And Jisung became his friend, his family, his world. Because Jisung loved him, Jisung was proud of him, Jisung cheered for him – even if they were separated by a screen.

That’s why Minho hadn’t slept. How could he when he was going to meet the love of his life in approximately five hours? Five hours! He groaned at the circles under his eyes, hoping an indulgent amount of concealer would be enough to hide the marks.

After slipping on his nightgown and applying a lovely aloe facemask, he eased into the couch, and attempted to get at least an hour of sleep. But no sooner had he dosed off, than there came a loud knock on the door. He was about to frown, but remembered the facemask. 

He opened the door to find – of course – the buffoon from across the hallway. 

Chan flinched at the sight of Minho, but readjusted his smile once he grew accustomed to speaking to the masked male. 

“I just wanted to check if that umm, that fashion show is still…”

“Of course it’s still happening,” Minho folded his arms. “Honestly, I don’t have time for this banter. Just make sure to be on time. My boss hates tardiness. And try not to talk too much. Goodness knows, you might end up digging a bigger hole for me.”

“You know,” Chan shifted his feet. “Jeongin was supposed to go to dinner with me – because the reservation card is for two.”

“So?” Minho stared.

“Well, he can’t,” Chan shrugged. “He has a date.”

“So?”

“What I mean to say,” Chan grinned nervously, “is that you could come with me – if you want to.”

“I’m going to have plans tonight,” Minho wished he could have rolled his eyes. “With Jisung.” 

Chan raised an eyebrow and Minho realized that he may have said too much.

“Jisung? Han Jisung?”

“Yeah,” Minho tried to sound nonchalant about it. “Han Jisung.”

“That singer? He knows you?” Chan’s jaw dropped.

“Actually,” Minho blushed beneath his aloe mask, “not yet.”

Before Chan could bother him further, he shut the door. He felt slightly bad about always shutting the door in the guy’s face, but it had to be done.

Minho took great pains to apply just the right amount of makeup, and perfectly style his hair. There was no use wearing such a glamorous suit if everything else wasn’t up to Jisung’s standards. 

When he arrived at the car he’d be traveling in with the other makeup artists and hairstylists, they all gawked at him. 

“You – you’re wearing that?” one of the women asked. “You do know you’re not going to walk the runway, right?”

Minho shrugged and took it as a compliment. “Doesn’t hurt to look your best, Karen.”

She stared. “My name isn’t Karen.”

“Obviously,” he sniffed. “And no one will ever want to know your name if you keep dressing like that.” He eyed her jeans and t-shirt with disdain.

Needless to say, the ride to the venue was silent and awkward – for the three ladies, at least. Minho had other concerns – one of them being how to make a good impression on the love of his life. He’d imagined the scene a million times in his head.

_ Jisung would be preparing to go out on the runway. Makeup artists and hairstylists would be flapping around him like excited chickens. “Pass me the blue eyeshadow,” one makeup artist would tell Minho, their assistant for the night. And Minho would step into Jisung’s view. There would be a loud gasp from Jisung as he took in the sight of Minho. Despite the chaos happening around them, they wouldn’t see anything but each other, they wouldn’t hear anything but each other. When Jisung stood up, Minho would walk towards him determined. “Han Jisung, I’ve waited so long for this moment,” he’d say. And Jisung would smile and reply, “So have I.” _

Backstage was incredibly busy, and to Minho found it difficult to keep on the low and avoid being put to work. He needed to stay in good condition until Jisung’s arrival. He wondered what he’d be wearing, whether there would a flurry of staff surrounding him, whether he would be stopping to sign fan autographs and pose for the media… It was all very fascinating and nerve-wrecking at the same time. 

There was a certain shift in the atmosphere when the celebrities arrived. A hush fell across the backstage area and a low murmur began to sweep through the staff, getting louder and louder as the excitement and anticipation of being around actual celebrities grew. 

But Minho couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his heart. He wanted to pull out his phone and check his reflection to make sure he looked okay, but his limbs appeared to be frozen in place.

_ He was going to meet Jisung. _

His heart began to beat out of his chest, his mouth felt dry and just as he thought his legs were going to give out, he managed to reach out and clutch the wall for support.

_ He was going to meet Jisung _ .

He tried to breathe in and out, slow, deep breaths. But his lungs were no match for the crazy rhythm of his heart. A bead of sweat had appeared above his left brow, and he gasped before quickly wiping it away with the back of his hand. He couldn’t ruin his makeup.

_ He was going to meet Jisung. _

They entered through the doors on the left, opposite from Minho. He couldn’t even get a glimpse of Minho because he was flanked on all sides by his own staff. Minho hated how tall they all were – he needed a glimpse, just one until they met.

Sighing in defeat, he made his way over to his colleagues who were working with a few models. “Who’s doing Han Jisung’s makeup?” he enquired.

One of the women raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Supposed to be me,” she shrugged. “But his manager said that Jisung insisted on his own makeup artist and hairstylist, so I guess we’ll just take care of the other models.”

Minho’s shoulders slumped. This wasn’t going according to plan. How was he supposed to create the perfect first meeting when the staff had Jisung holed up in some private dressing room? 

“Here, hold these,” one of the women shoved a bunch of makeup brushes into Minho’s arms.

He groaned. This wasn’t going according to plan at all. 

Model after model was sent out onto the runway, sometimes with a celebrity or two. But Minho knew Jisung was going to be the last one – the showstopper. He hadn’t stepped out of his dressing room yet.

While helping to curl a model’s hair, Minho had developed a new plan. 

_ Jisung would exit the runway, exhausted from working so hard. He’d make his way straight to his dressing room. Minho would be waiting at the door, a smile on his face. Jisung would freeze at the sight of him. “I’ve waited so long for this,” Minho would sigh. Jisung would break out into an exuberant smile. “So have I.” _

Again, Jisung was ushered onto the runway so fast, that all Minho could glimpse was a flash of something blue and sparkly. He didn’t have much time now. Despite the whines and glares from his colleagues he pushed his way over to Jisung’s dressing room. He refrained from taking a peek inside. Luckily, there was no one outside. Minho sniffed – Jisung needed better security. He’d tell him so later tonight. 

He tapped his foot anxiously, only pausing when he saw a scary sight dashing towards him. “Stop right there!” he held out a hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He was taken aback at the face that peered at him from behind two vases of begonias. “You’re that new manager!” he balked. “Oh my goodness, you’re going to  _ kill  _ him!”

The manager (Hyunjo? Hyunbin? Hyunsin?) looked at Minho like he was the crazy one. “Look, I don’t know who you are but –”

“Who I am isn’t of importance!” Minho snapped, angrily. “What’s important is that you’re taking  _ those  _ flowers into Jisung’s dressing room when he’s highly allergic to them!”

The manager nearly lost his grip on the vases. “W-What? You must be mistaken. Jisung himself asked for these!”

“Why would he ask for death?” Minho threw his hands up in frustration. “How incompetent! Jisung is allergic to begonias! Everyone knows it. His favorite flowers are petunias!”

“I must have gotten them mixed up,” the manager whispered, his face white with shock. “Oh god. What do I do? Jisung said he needs to have flowers…”

Minho bit his lip. He didn’t want to help, but for Jisung’s sake… “One of the models got paid a visit by her boyfriend before the show. He brought her a bouquet of petunias.”

“Can you take me to her? Please?” He sounded desperate. Frantic.

Minho groaned. 

“Please. My job is on the line. And Jisung really wanted these flowers.”

Minho knew Jisung had already lost one manager. If the company fired another manager, how would Jisung take it? Not well, Minho guessed. “Fine.”

With much coercing and a monetary bribe, the French model agreed to give up her flowers. The manager breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the bouquet. “I hope he isn’t in the dressing room already. I was meant to have the VLive running…”

“Then shouldn’t  _ you _ be running?” Minho scowled. 

The manager let out an unexpected shriek and shot off to the dressing room. Minho made to follow, hoping that he could still put his plan into action.

But a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

He turned around and knew – he wasn’t meeting Jisung today.

“Minho, my boy,” his boss boomed, a wide smile on his face. “I brought your husband back to meet you now that the show is over.”

“Hi, darling,” Chan grinned. 


	10. Chapter 10

Jisung had been mentally rehearsing how the next few minutes were going to unfold. Even as he walked the runway, he went through it in his mind. He was undecided on  _ ‘Hwang Hyunjin wants to murder me!’ _ and  _ ‘Hwang Hyunjin – I trusted you!’ _

He supposed that mention of murder would be more dramatic and therefore more effective – especially when he had an audience of thousands waiting for him on his VLive channel. It was going to be superb. Hyunjin would be fired by B.E in under five seconds – Jisung was sure of it.

And then he’d have his fame all to himself again. 

He wasn’t obsessed with fame. Really, he wasn’t. But fame – recognition – that was how he proved himself. He had the perfect life, you’d say, the perfect childhood, the perfect career. But that was the surface. Once you dived a little deeper…

His parents loved him – that was true. And that was why it hurt the most when he saw their disappointment. And he saw it often. He saw it when he failed his first math test and his father, the school principal, arranged (paid) for him to write it again. It became a regular occurrence – Jisung failing, his father paying to keep him progressing in school. They’d paid his way to the ninth grade when he auditioned for B.E without telling them. When he passed his audition, he could hide his love for music no longer. He saw neither pride nor joy in their eyes when he told them. They let him go, voiced their belief that he would achieve nothing, and vowed to only accept him back when he failed at his career, when he gave up his dream.

No, fame wasn’t an obsession. It was a need. It was a means for his parents to see what he achieved.

He wiped the sweat off his face and declined an offer of water as he left the runway. He made a beeline straight for his dressing-room and did a countdown in his head.

_ One, two, three, four, five, here we go… _

He strode into the dressing room. “Hwang Hy –”

He stared.

There were no flowers in the room. Hyunjin wasn’t in the room either. Even the VLive wasn’t already running like he’d instructed.

He let out a loud groan of frustration, dropping into the chair in front of the laptop. Hyunjin was so incompetent that he’d even ruined Jisung’s plan to get him fired. He huffed and began to turn on his VLive. He’d talk to his fans for a little while and then he’d try to come up with a new plan.

He took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto his face before turning it on.

Just as the camera turned on, there was a loud bang and the door flew open. Hyunjin panted as he shuffled inside, and in one hand was a bouquet of… petunias.

_ Petunias? _

“I’m not… late… Am… I…” Hyunjin panted between breaths. He held out the bouquet. “For you.”

Jisung grabbed the bouquet, staring at the flowers in disbelief.

Jisung’s favourite flowers were petunias.

Jisung wasn’t allergic to petunias. 

_ This was all terribly wrong. _

He looked up at Hyunjin when he heard the male’s loud gasp. Hyunjin was staring in horror at the laptop screen. 

“Wha – Shit.” Jisung’s eyes widened as he realized why – they were both in full view of the webcam. 

He cleared his throat, and smiled at the camera. “Um, hello Acorns,” he attempted to do damage control, but his voice shook. “I umm… Just wanted to say hi to you all. So um… Hi. And uh… Bye.” He gave the camera a wave before switching everything off.

He gave Hyunjin an accusatory stare. “Do you understand what you just did?”

Hyunjin apparently did understand, because he looked distraught. “I’m – I’m so – so sorry,” he shook his head. “I didn’t know that it was on and I should’ve checked. I – I get how this must look to your fans, but we – I can explain it to them. Just  _ please _ don’t fire me.”

There was so much desperation in his voice that Jisung almost felt sorry for him. But it turned out, his Get Hwang Fired plan had worked out after all, and he couldn’t be more delighted. Surely the internet would be abuzz with dating rumors now, and the company would be furious with Hyunjin for inadvertently starting those rumors.

The soft hum of Hyunjin’s cellphone forced the blonde to remove it from the pocket of his jeans, and Jisung watched with eager eyes as he answered the call.

“Yes,” Hyunjin answered, sounding dejected. “We’ll be there.” He ended the call and gave Jisung a pained look. “The CEO wants to see us.”

Jisung clapped his hands together jovially. “Well then, let’s go!”

He made to push past Hyunjin but the taller male reached out for his wrist with an unsurprisingly firm grip. 

“What are y –”

“Please don’t get me fired.”

Jisung pulled his hand away and sighed dramatically. “You should have thought about that before you barged in here with those flowers.” He studied the male with curious eyes. “Why are you so desperate for this job anyway? I thought you didn’t want it?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. “We should go,” he cleared his throat, refusing to look at Jisung. “The CEO is waiting.”

CEO Park Sungjin didn’t look unhappy. In fact, he greeted Jisung and Hyunjin with a bright smile. “Unfortunate events,” he sighed. “But, on the bright side…” He looked at the intern, Dowoon.

But Jisung felt apt to interrupt. “Bright side, Mr Park? I don’t see anything bright. Dating rumours are probably making their way onto the front pages of every magazine right now. I can’t imagine what twitter looks like.”

“And so what?” the intern laughed and Jisung felt a dash of annoyance. “Just  _ imagine _ , Jisung. Imagine how much attention you’re going to receive now that people think you’re dating him.” He gestured with a tilt of his head to Hyunjin, who sat with arms folded, his face impassive. “So put it to use.”

“What?” Jisung balked, standing up and glaring at the intern over the conference table. “Use it? Use those dating rumours? I don’t understand! He should be fired!” He shot Hyunjin an angry glare. “Why is he still here?”

“Jisung,” the CEO sounded tired. “Calm down. The truth is, well, your albums haven’t been doing too well have they? Sales are… dwindling.” Jisung flopped down into his chair, his cheeks burning from embarrassment. “These rumours could get people interested again. Everyone loves a good love story.”

Jisung raised his eyes to the ceiling. “So you… You want me to pretend to date him?”

Hyunjin sat up at this, his expression alert, his gaze questioning.

“Oh goodness, no!” the CEO laughed. “What we want is for you to keep people interested, keep them guessing.”

Dowoon nodded. “Make them wonder ‘Are they dating or not?’ ‘Are they more than friends?’ You know, the typical friends to lovers kind of story.”

“We’re not even friends,” Hyunjin spoke up. “How do we keep them guessing? It takes a glance to know we hate each other’s guts.”

“On the contrary,” Dowoon smirked, “it looks like you’re both quite fond of each other.” He turned his laptop towards them, showing them the images plastered across the screen. Most were of that awful VLive where Hyunjin brought Jisung the flowers. Some were of Hyunjin and Jisung in the backseat of the car. Others showed Jisung grasping onto Hyunjin’s belt or shirt, leading him away from the cameras.

“It’s wrong,” Jisung shook his head. “It’s all wrong. These pictures… They – They tell a story that isn’t true.”

“But the point is,” Dowoon grinned, “they tell a story.”

“A story you want us to continue,” Hyunjin sounded defeated. “I don’t know if this will work. Jisung is… difficult.”

Jisung’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying this won’t work because of  _ me _ ? You’re the one who knows nothing about the industry! You’re the one who wants to steal my fame!”

“Steal your fame?” Hyunjin let out a sardonic laugh. “I don’t want anything of yours – especially not your fame. And from what I understand, you don’t have much of it anyway,” he sneered.

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. And then Jisung was scrambling across the table, trying to swing his fist into Hyunjin’s jaw. 


	11. Chapter 11

Minho stared at his phone screen, like several of the others backstage. Jisung had cut off the broadcast so quickly. It almost confirmed his guilt. But Minho still couldn’t fathom it. Could Jisung and his manager really be…? No, Minho shook his head. It just  _ looked _ wrong. Until there was verbal confirmation from Jisung he refused to believe it. 

And besides, Minho had been the one to procure the flowers! It wasn’t as though it had been some romantic gesture on the manager’s part – it just looked that way. He lifted his gaze to the dressing-room where Jisung was still holed up with his manager. Before long, the security personnel were escorting both out… and away from Minho.

Another opportunity lost.

“Should we leave now?”

Minho jumped in surprise having forgotten that Chan was still standing idly beside him. He narrowed his eyes. “ _ I _ am leaving now. There is no  _ we _ .”

Chan frowned, his arms folded. “You know that’s kind of rude, considering I saved your ass. I’m not here because I enjoy attending fashion shows. Have you forgotten that  _ you’re _ the one responsible for me being here?”

He sounded unusually annoyed, light-years away from his usual bright and optimistic self. Minho figured it was because he was just hungry. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go to dinner? The reservation is for 8pm, right?”

Chan shrugged. “I’m not going.”

Confusion made Minho furrow his brows, curious to know why Chan had rejected the offer of free Michelin-style food. “I can’t understand why. It was a perfectly good payment for what you’ve done –”

“I did it because I felt bad for you,” Chan admitted, and Minho immediately began to flush with embarrassment. “You said you had no friends, and as ridiculous as that sounds, I believe you. And you needed help so I…” he sighed. “I guess I also thought you might just be using this whole fashion show as an excuse to hang out with me. And that’s even more ridiculous, because you obviously hate me for some reason.”

Before he could open his mouth to argue with that accusation, Chan had already pushed past him, heading for the exit. Perhaps it was his embarrassment at being called out, or his need to right a wrong that fuelled him to go after the other.

“Wait!” he called after Chan who was already outside.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, stopping when he saw Minho jogging to catch up with him. “What?”

“You’re wrong.”

Chan sullenly stared, his eyebrows raised.

“No, wait,” Minho closed his eyes in exasperation, opening them after he’d taken a few calming breaths. “No, you’re right, actually.”

“Oh,” Chan seemed surprised now. “I am?”

“I know I seem really rude,” Minho grimaced. “And I know I’m not friendly. And it seems as though I hate you. And I say mean things. And I push you – people – away. But it’s because I’d rather make it seem as though I hate people, so it hurts me less when it turns out that they hate me.” Even Minho couldn’t believe the brutal honesty that he was suddenly radiating.

Chan furrowed his brows. “Minho, people would never hate you if you were kind and friendly. People would never hate you unless you give them a reason.”

Minho pushed his hands into his pockets, and looked down at his shoes. “I annoy people. People don’t understand…”

“Don’t understand what?”

“Jisung,” Minho said simply, avoiding Chan’s gaze. “They don’t get why I – why I love him so much. I used to have friends, but they all – I guess they thought I need to grow up, to stop… to stop…” he huffed. “They called it  _ obsessive _ , but I love him, I do.” His voice began to crack, and chided himself when he began to tear up. He was really just going to embarrass himself further.

Chan’s voice was soft, so that only the two of them could hear. “I’m not going to judge you for it, Minho.”

Minho shook his head. That’s what people always say, and then they realize the extent of it and start calling crazy. He’d been called worse things than crazy too.

“You have your reasons,” Chan said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know you must have your reasons for the way you feel. And I’m willing to listen whenever you you’re willing to talk about it.”

“But why?” Minho looked at him with glassy eyes. “Why would you even bother –”

“Because that’s what friends do,” Chan smiled. “Or should I say, that’s what husbands do...”

Minho laughed, the sound sounding foreign even to him. It had been a while. “Thank you, Chun.” He waited for Chan’s face to contort before he added, “Just joking,  _ Chan _ .”

Chan rolled his eyes but his smile remained. “You know… If we hurry, we could still make it to that reservation. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Minho admitted. 

Turns out, that by the time they’d trekked to the subway station, and arrived at the restaurant (inconveniently situated on the other side of town) their table had already been given to someone else. 

Two hungry stomachs in tow, they strolled down the street in search of something to satiate their appetites. 

“I’m supposed to be watching my diet,” Minho admitted as they waited in line for fried dumplings at a food truck.

Chan gave him a skeptical look. “You know you look great, right?”

Minho found himself blushing at the compliment, even though he’d heard it countless of times from others. He couldn’t help but feel flushed under Chan’s gaze, sincerity punctuating every word he spoke. “Um,” he fumbled for words. But it was their turn to order and he was mercifully saved from responding.

“I’ve been here for a few years,” Chan said, when they’d seated themselves on a nearby bench. “But it gets lonely at times. Most of my friends are back in Australia.”

“Australia… That’s a long way away,” Minho observed. “Why’d you come here?”

Chan chewed slowly, and Minho understood that he was buying time as he thought of an answer. His answer was surprising. “Love. We met online, and eventually one of us had to give in and make the move.”

“Oh,” Minho looked at him with interest. “Did it… Did you – I mean…”

“Did it work out?” Chan chuckled. “No. Well, the relationship didn’t. But I’m happy now. So me being here, worked out. I guess it taught me that sometimes it’s okay when things don’t go to plan. Happiness finds you in strange places at strange times. I love my job as a DJ, and I met some pretty cool people I can call friends too. Things worked out.”

Minho considered this as he wolfed down his dumplings. He couldn’t imagine finding happiness from a source other than Jisung. For a long time there was just him and Jisung. When he was sad, when he was angry, when he was lonely, his source of happiness had been Jisung. Jisung made him laugh, made him smile, made him hope, made him believe in happiness. 

“So you’re happy without that… without that person?”

Chan nodded. “I was happy with him. And when we broke up, I was unhappy for a while. But I had friends who were there for me. I had my job. I have dreams, things I want to achieve, and as long as I have all of that, it’s reason enough to keep going.”

“You’re lucky,” he said to Chan. “Really lucky that you can find happiness in so many things. It feels like I just have this one source of happiness. And if I lose it then…” he shuddered at the thought. “Then I’ll have nothing.”

Chan nodded. “You’re talking about Han Jisung.” It wasn’t a statement so Minho just offered him a small smile. “Even if you lose him, Minho, you’ll still have a friend.”

“Thanks,” Minho murmured. He was grateful for the sentiment. He really was. But he just couldn’t imagine what good a friend would do if he didn’t have Jisung in his life. What would be the point of anything? What would be the point of breathing?


	12. Chapter 12

Try as he may, Jisung could not get his fist to connect with Hyunjin’s jaw. Instead, to his humiliation, Hyunjin had simply wrapped an arm around Jisung’s waist and flung him off the table. He looked at Jisung with disdain, his eyes conveying his disgust so strongly that Jisung ignored his aching back and lunged for the blonde once more. This time, he clasped the fabric of Hyunjin’s shirt between his fingers, and tugged until the male had joined him on the floor. 

And Jisung wasn’t done. He raised his fist again, intending to make Hyunjin suffer, but Hyunjin was quick to respond, hooking his leg around Jisung’s and using the strength of his body to flip them over. He stared down at Jisung with a ferocity that made the musician want to surrender. But before he could even open his mouth, they were interrupted by the sound of the conference room door opening and a startled exclamation.

Hyunjin whipped his head around, and Jisung strained to peer around him, flushing with embarrassment when he saw that Changbin was looking at them with his jaw lowered and eyes wide in astonishment. It took Jisung less than a second to realize that to an outsider, his and Hyunjin’s current ‘situation’ looked rather suggestive.

Hyunjin had straddled him, locking him firmly against the ground. And Jisung… Jisung still had a fistful of Hyunjin’s shirt in his hand. One glance at the conference table told him that the CEO and his intern had left at some point during their fight.

Hyunjin scrambled off Jisung, quick on his feet. “We were just uh…” He looked at Jisung questioningly. 

“Did you need something from the conference room?” Jisung asked Changbin, forcing a smile onto his face and sitting up. In these situations, he’d learned, the best thing to do was to pretend the embarrassing thing never happened in the first place.

Still looking stunned, Changbin shook his head. “I um…” he shrugged. “I heard the CEO was in here and I wanted to have a word about my schedule. But I’ll check his office.” He gave Hyunjin a fleeting glance. “Sorry to interrupt.” And he left as speedily as he’d entered.

Hyunjin ran his fingers through his messy hair, before trying to fix his even messier shirt. Several buttons were now missing, and the collar hung low, exposing his collarbones. After surveying the damage, he cast Jisung an annoyed look but it turned to one of worry. “Are – Are you hurt?”

Jisung used the table to pull himself to his feet. “Would it bother you if I was?”

“I’m not the type to go around hurting people,” Hyunjin sighed, lips set in a thin line.

Jisung snorted at this. “Didn’t look like it just now.”

But Hyunjin raised his eyebrows, looking defiant as always. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Was I?” Jisung asked, incredulously. “You’re the one who said –” he looked away. “You’re the one who made that remark.”

To his satisfaction, Hyunjin had begun to look guilty, lowering his gaze and scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine,” Jisung grabbed his coat off the chair. “And just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you have to point it out, okay?” Even he was startled by the admission.

He couldn’t deny it. Jisung wasn’t as popular as his fellow musicians. Maybe it was the lack of sincerity in his music, or perhaps it was his lack of enthusiasm, his lack of motivation…

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin apologized again, perhaps spurred on by the sudden confession. “We should get going.”

They were halfway to the car when Hyunjin received a text. Jisung arched a brow, waiting. “We’re supposed to have dinner together,” he said, his tone clipped, divulging his unhappiness at the demand from their CEO.

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Let me guess… It has to be somewhere the public will have a good view of us.”

Hyunjin merely nodded before gesturing to the car. 

Jisung rattled off the names of some of his favourite fine-dining restaurants while Hyunjin sat back and left the driver to deal with it. Jisung couldn’t decide between Italian and Korean. He looked at Hyunjin but the blonde had his eyes closed, subtly ignaling that he wanted no part of the decision. 

Jisung huffed and belatedly decided on Korean. He leaned back against the seat, surprised when he heard Hyunjin chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking,” Hyunjin mumbled, opening his eyes. “Park is expecting us to go to this fancy dinner and get photographed and what not... But imagine if we ended up going somewhere cheap and unexpected like –”

“Like McDonalds,” Jisung laughed. “Yeah he’d be pretty pissed off.” He and Hyunjin exchanged a devilish look, and Jisung rubbed his hands together slyly. “McDonalds it is, then.”

They both tried to ignore the gawkers as they stood in the queue waiting to place their orders. Jisung could see several people whip out their phones, no doubt eager to film Han Jisung and his manager/maybe-boyfriend queuing for burgers at McDonalds. He’d spent such a large portion of his life following every order from Bob Ent. that he felt somewhat vindicated engaging in this small rebellion. 

When only one person stood between them and the counter, Hyunjin looked at Jisung. “You’re not having a salad, are you?” His disapproval was evident.

Jisung thought about it for a long second before shrugging. “Screw it. I want a double cheeseburger.” Openly rebelling against his diet was a bit jarring, but he would do it, if only to show the company that he wasn’t a complete pushover. And when he got back to the dorm he could always get rid of whatever he’s eaten anyway.

“This is delicious,” Jisung said, cheeks stuffed with innutritious goodness. 

Hyunjin smirked from opposite him. “It is, isn’t it? Better than those decoy salads,” he laughed.

And Jisung had to agree. He studied the blonde who munched on his chips, and cast furtive glances at the other customers who insisted on filming them while they ate. He’d been self-conscious about eating on camera too, so he understood. “Just remember that you’re human too,” he advised. “And all humans eat – the ones in front of the cameras, and the ones behind them too.”

Hyunjin took a moment to process his words, nodding, and getting started on his own burger. His shoulders still seemed tense, and his gaze still flickered to the onlookers, but at least he was eating. Jisung had simply refused to eat on camera the first few times. It took a while getting used to. And even though he was used to it now, he wasn’t comfortable with it. He never would be. He couldn’t fathom what enjoyment people found in watching someone else eat. In fact, they found it entertainment doing the smallest of things – walking, smiling, frowning, blinking; it was mind-boggling, really.

“We should do this again,” he blurted without thinking. Hyunjin stopped mid-chew and stared with raised eyebrows. “I mean…” he sighed. “This almost feels like freedom. Almost.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened. “Is this really the most freedom you’ve had?”

Jisung nodded. “Since I joined the company, yeah.”

“Have you told them that you’re unhappy?”

It was a simple question, but the answer was a complicated one. Jisung was under a contractual obligation to do as he was told, regardless of his happiness. Violating his contract would mean being dismissed from the company, and if that happened… What would his parents say? They’d have those smug smiles on their faces when they’d read about it in the newspapers. They’d say,  _ we told you so _ . They’d laugh at his failure. And how would he bare the shame of that? No, he had to keep going, irrespective of whether he was happy or not.

“My happiness doesn’t matter.”

Hyunjin put down his burger, brows furrowed. “But why would you do any of this? Why have this career where your happiness doesn’t matter?”

“To prove my worth,” Jisung admitted. 

“To who?”

Jisung gave him a wry smile. “All the people who said I was worth nothing.”


	13. Chapter 13

Turns out, Chan wasn’t all that annoying. Minho stopped scheduling his movements to avoid Chan. He could now leave his apartment freely whenever he felt like it. 

A week had passed since they’d shared a serving of fried dumplings outside that food truck. They hadn’t spent any time together since, but they bumped into each other in the hallway a few times. Chan always had a bright dimpled smile ready for Minho, and Minho had taken to offering him a polite, somewhat nervous smile in return.

When Minho had come home from work a few days ago, he’d been met with a plastic bag of cookies outside the door and a note:

**Tried my hand at baking. They’re edible. Hope you like them – Chan.**

And the other day when he was on his way down the hallway, grumbling about having to take the trash out on such a rainy day, Chan had poked his head out of his apartment and offered – insisted, really – to take it out for him. 

Minho wasn’t used to this, and he remained on high alert. Could a person really be nice without expecting anything in return? Surely, there had to be ulterior motives? Or would it be worse if there weren’t any ulterior motives? Then Minho would be compelled to return the niceness and do nice things. And that was a lot of effort. Not to mention, he didn’t know how. 

Would he have to bake cookies? Take out the trash for Chan? Was there some kind of rule governing the kinds of nice things people should do for each other?

Why did being nice have to be such a complex phenomenon? Minho didn’t have time for this. He was busy with his plans to stage his meeting with Jisung.

He’d carefully poured over Jisung’s schedule, looking for the perfect opportunity, and he believed he found it in the form of a charity dinner. He’d have to pay a hell of a lot of money for a ticket, but he didn’t mind rationing his food for the next year or so. Anyway, he was sure Jisung would chip in for his food expenses when they started dating. 

He’d want to know all Minho’s favorite foods, and they’d go grocery shopping together. They’d dine at all those fancy restaurants with exotic desserts. And Jisung would surprise him with chocolates every time he visited. Yes, food would never be a problem.

But even a VIP ticket wouldn’t get him to sit at the same table as Jisung at the charity dinner. Nevertheless, he’d at least he’d be in the same room. He’d find his way to Jisung, and Jisung would find his way to him. He was sure of it. They were meant to be. 

He clicked a few times, purchasing his ticket to the dinner and feeling a shiver of excitement run up his spine. This time, it would all be perfect. He had a few days to get his suit dry-cleaned before the dinner, and he was thinking of dyeing his hair. More blonde? Grey? Maybe blue? What would Jisung like most?

He frowned at another notification from that blog. That awful blog insisted that there was something going between Jisung and his manager Hwang Hyunjin. Ridiculous. Baseless rumors. Jisung would never date that guy. He didn’t even know about Jisung’s allergy. How would Jisung choose  _ him _ over Minho?

No, Jisung would never break Minho’s heart like that. They were meant to be.

He looked at the pictures posted on the blog. They looked pretty normal to Minho – just two people walking side by side, eating out at fast-food outlets, sharing a smile now and then. Neither of this screamed that they were dating. People were jumping to conclusions and Minho hated it.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. A niggling feeling told him it was Chan before he even opened the door. Who else would visit Minho?

He was right.

“Hey,” Chan greeted with a smile, donned in his usual black regalia. 

Minho studied his hands looking for any sign of baked goods, but was surprised (and slightly disappointed because the cookies has tasted good) to find none. “Hello,” he gave Chan an awkward smile. Was he here to take out the trash?

“I was just wondering whether you were busy this evening… Say… around 7?”

Oh. Minho felt slightly embarrassed that he was in fact not busy on this fine Saturday night. He’d planned to just stay in like he usually did and watch compilations of Jisung on YouTube. “Not really.”

“Actually um,” Chan hesitated, running his hands through his mop of curls, “some of my friends are coming over later. Just a few. We’re just going to have pizza and play games. And if you want to… I mean I’d like you to join us. And uh… I know you like watching your diet so if you want I’ll even order you a salad.”

Minho could only stare in mild shock. Chan wanted Minho to spend time with him and his friends? Why would he even want that? Surely, by now, he would have seen that Minho wasn’t great company. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Minho would put a damper on any social gathering.

“You don’t have to,” Chan said quickly, his cheeks pink. “I just thought… I mean, I’m right across from you so if you feel like it, come on over.” This time he’d managed to turn on his heel and leave before Minho actually shut the door. 

Minho sat down in front of his laptop, considering his offer, and then berating himself for considering it. He was fine spending time alone. He was, wasn’t he? Mostly. It did get lonely. There were times when even replaying Jisung’s videos never helped the loneliness to cease. Sometimes he craved company that wasn’t on the other side of a screen, company that would respond to his questions, and laugh with him. Friends. That’s what he craved sometimes.

He’d had friends.

He couldn’t remember the little boy’s face too clearly, but Jun had been Minho’s first friend. That was first grade. They’d sat together during lunch and everything. But then he got invited to someone’s birthday party and Minho hadn’t. Things had spiraled pretty quickly from there. Minho had realized he was the outcast. 

It was like a wave of evil had washed over his classmates, forcing them to be cruel towards Minho. As the years passed he was suddenly made aware of things he hadn’t noticed before.

He was the only one who received a new school uniform from the school every term. At first he’d been puzzled as to why he was so special. And then he found out that it was a bad kind of special. His classmates all had parents who bought them new uniforms every term. Minho’s grandparents simply hadn’t bothered.

It was the same with lunch. His classmates were quick to notice that his lunchbox always consisted of a sizeable portion of kimchi, two crackers and a piece of apple. Minho didn’t understand why they found it funny; it sustained him just fine. And then he saw their lunchboxes, filled with several side-dishes, and colorful sweets.

But Minho had never felt more out of place than he had at school events. School plays, sports tournaments, ceremonies – events where parents could be seen cheering for their kids – were the worst. Minho stuck out like a sore thumb. Not one camera flashed in his direction, not one person called his name. It didn’t take long for the other kids to notice that Minho didn’t have parents. But instead of being sympathetic towards him, he became known as the weird kid who lived with his grandparents.

Junior school and middle school were a nightmare. But things had gotten slightly better in high school – because that was when he found Jisung. And he’d even managed to bond with a few of his classmates who’d also taken a liking to Jisung’s music! But even then, his happiness was short-lived when he found out that none of them felt quite the same way about Jisung. And from then on, right through high school, he became known as the weird Jisung-obsessed boy who lived with his grandparents. 

When he’d graduated from high school, he’d immediately applied for a sale’s position in Seoul. Of course he had to move to Seoul – it was where Jisung waited for him. His first week on the job had also been when Minho realized that if he wanted to date Jisung, he needed to look the part. He’d started caring more for his appearance then, and turned out, people noticed!

People wanted to be Minho’s friend. And things were fine. He’d hang out with someone – they’d go to lunch or get drinks and everything would be fine for an hour, until Minho brought up Jisung. People usually avoided him afterwards, and when he’d see them around they’d immediately tense and look away, as though just the sight of him made them uncomfortable.

Minho was fully aware that if he hung out with Chan and his friends, they’d be weirded out by him within half an hour. It was inevitable.

So Minho put on one of Jisung’s concert DVD’s and pressed play.

Jisung was in the middle of a dance-break when there was a knock on the door. Minho scowled, not moving his eyes away from the screen until the camera cut to the audience. He paused the DVD and got to his feet, rather grumpily.

“Yes, Cha – oh.” He’d opened the door, expecting to see the Australian but was instead met with the sight of the kid. “Uh, Jeongin, right?”

Jeongin nodded, lips twisted into a frown. He held up a plastic container filled with what appeared to be a garden salad. “Chan ordered this in case you showed up, but since you didn’t, he figured you could have it for dinner anyway.”

The first thought that went through Minho’s mind was that Chan could’ve brought the salad himself. His second thought contained a few choicy swear words aimed at himself for being so eager to see Chan. 

“Oh okay, thanks.” He reached out for the salad, but found himself having to pry it out of his hands. 

“He’s a great guy, you know.” Jeongin narrowed his eyes.

Minho was taken aback by his accusatory tone. He wondered if he’d unknowingly done something bad. 

Even as he resumed watching the concert, he found himself wondering whether he’d been rude to Chan in the last few days. There wasn’t anything he could think of. He gripped a tomato between his chopsticks, lifting it to his mouth and feeling rather strange. 

That strange feeling had been building in his stomach since he’d accepted the salad – no – since he saw Jeongin standing there instead of Chan. It was a dark, heavy feeling that pooled in his middle and seemed to weigh him down. It stretched its tentacle all the way to Minho’s hand, forcing him to lower his chopsticks and prevented him from eating. 

Guilt. That’s what this was.

He took a deep breath before knocking on Chan’s door. Aware that Chan had friends over, he had no expectation as to who would answer the door.

Sure enough, the door was opened by a pretty young male with lovely,  _ healthy _ , layered blonde hair brushed back. He looked at Minho with surprise, his eyes widening further when he spotted the salad in Minho’s hand and began putting two and two together. 

“Oi, Chan!” he called over his shoulder, his lips spreading into a smile. “I’m Felix, by the way.”

Minho did a slight double take at the unexpected depth of his voice, and the salad container became a bit squashed between his fingers, the plastic making an awful crunching sound.

Chan appeared at the other’s shoulder. Having set sight on Minho he hurriedly removed the slice of pizza dangling from between his teeth. “Minho,” he grinned, but his smile faded when he spotted the salad. “You didn’t like it.”

“No, no,” Minho shook his head, his cheeks heating up. “I like it. I just wanted to thank you. For everything, I mean.”

“Oh.” Chan seemed delightfully surprised for this, and Minho realized this was the first time he’d ever showed him his gratitude. Perhaps that had been the root of his guilt.

“Well then, uh,” Minho began to turn on his heel.

“You should come in!” the deep voiced male blurted.

Minho turned around looking from Chan’s slightly fearful expression to the other male’s warmer smile. “I – Okay.”

The tension in Chan’s shoulders visibly faded away as Minho crossed the threshold into his apartment. Was that why Chan had looked so afraid when Minho had been invited in? Had he been afraid Minho would turn down the offer?

Minho belatedly realized that even earlier when Chan invited him over, he hadn’t phrased it as a question, but had simply left the offer hanging. This meant  _ something _ , but Minho couldn’t quite figure out what yet.

The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming, mouth-watering smell of melting cheese. His stomach growled in response and he hoped that no one heard over the sound of some racing game that was visible on the small flat screen TV. 

“Hey,” Chan waved a hand to get his friends’ attention. All three faces turned to look at Minho. He’d already had brief introductions from two – Jeongin and Felix. And the third… He wouldn’t need an introduction for Kim Seungmin.

Seungmin’s own smile had faded into a thin line when their eyes connected. He too, it seemed, was remembering that chaotic last meeting.

It was just two years ago when Seungmin first started his job at the department store. He’d just needed a source of income while he looked for something better. No one worked for long at the department store. It was like taking a connecting flight. You had to stop somewhere before taking your next flight to reach your destination – the department store was that stop. Granted, Minho had been working there for several years, but that was okay, because he was waiting for Jisung.

Seungmin had been terrifyingly friendly, and at first Minho had kept up his guard afraid of what lay behind the bright smiles and kind words. But as they spent time together going out for coffee during their lunch breaks and discussing their interests, Minho began to let down his guard – especially when Seungmin didn’t seem to be affected by Minho’s rambling about Jisung. In fact, he’d also rambled on and on about that band he loved. 

It was around four months after they’d met when Seungmin asked Minho if he wanted to get dinner after their shift at the store. Minho had recommended that lovely sushi restaurant that opened just a few blocks away.

Everything had been going smoothly. It was just like an extension of their work break. They spoke freely and the sushi was amazing. And then, while they were waiting for the bill, Seungmin ruined it.

“This was a great date, wasn’t it?” he’d asked Minho.

Minho was flabbergasted. Why would Seungmin have thought of that as a date? Why would he think Minho was into him when Minho was clearly waiting for Jisung? It was ridiculous, and Minho told him so.

“I – I don’t even like you that way,” Minho had said, his facial features contorted into a grimace. “Jisung is the only one I’d ever consider dating!”

Seungmin had been stunned. “You’re joking right?” he’d asked, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Of course not,” Minho hissed. “My love for Jisung is no joke, Seungmin.”

People were starting to stare at them – patrons and staff. Seungmin had turned a deep shade of red. He slapped some money onto the table and stood up, looking at Minho with a mixture of contempt and shock. “You’re crazy, Lee Minho. And you need help.”

Those were the last words Seungmin had ever spoken to him. And that was the last time he’d seen Seungmin; he hadn’t returned to work and Minho later learned that he’d handed in his resignation.

They stared at each other in silence now, and no one seemed to notice the tension between them as Chan ran through introductions. Minho's eyes flicked down to where Seungmin’s and Jeongin’s hand were intertwined on the couch.  _ Oh, well, good for them, but really awkward for me. _

Felix, who was squeezed into the space between the armrest and Jeongin, dropped down onto the carpet where he sat cross-legged. He patted the space that he’d just vacated and smiled at Minho. “You can sit here.”

Minho glanced at Chan just to be sure and he encouraged Minho with a flourish of his hand. “Go ahead.” 

While Minho tried to find a comfortable position in the spot he’d been allotted, Chan had placed himself on the carpet next to Felix. They resumed whatever game they’d been playing and Minho couldn’t help but notice Chan sneaking glances over his shoulder at him. He wondered whether Chan thought he’d steal something or go into his bedroom (as if he hadn’t been there before). It was awfully nerve-wrecking.

He tried to distract himself with observing the new additions to the living room décor. It had changed a bit from Minho’s last visit. The last time, the faded white walls had been bare, but this time two pieces of artwork hung opposite each other. They were both strange black and white abstract paintings, the kind that drew the observer in and induced a strange kind of calm. There was also a small potted cactus visible from behind a set of grey curtains. In any other apartment, the color scheme – or rather, lack of color – would have been morose, but the excited yelps and laughs and screams of “I won!” added the color that was missing. 

The only one refraining from making any noise was Seungmin. Minho could tell that his presence had unnerved the brunette. Luckily, Jeongin was hunched forward, blocking Seungmin’s and Minho’s view of each other. But when Minho leaned just a fraction back, he could see Seungmin’s teeth pressed into his lower lip like he was trying to hold back a torrent of words.

“Want some pizza?” Felix asked Minho, passing around a box of mouthwatering pepperoni pizza.

Minho had to force the refusal from his throat. He shook his head, gesturing to the salad on his lap, and to prove his point, he popped a tomato into his mouth.

Felix nodded. “Ah yeah, Chan mentioned you like to watch your diet.”

Although Chan’s eyes were fixed on the screen he’d reddened considerably. “We were just talking about you in passing,” he murmured. 

Minho wondered if he’d told them how standoffish he’s been.

“We all work out,” Jeongin spoke to Minho now, his gaze ever-scrutinizing. “But we like pizza.”

“Is there a particular reason you’re watching your weight?” Felix asked, turning fully around so that he was facing Minho.

“Oh um,” Minho began to break into a sweat, feeling as though he was being ambushed. It was a simple question. But the answer… “To impress Jisung,” he muttered, looking down at his hands. 

“What was that?” Felix leaned in closer.

Chan had paused the game now to look at Minho. This was more pressure than Minho was used to. This is why he didn’t socialize. “To impress Jisung,” he said a little louder.

Seungmin’s scoff was audible, and that was all it took for Minho to take off running. 


	14. Chapter 14

Jisung and Hyunjin had come to some mutually agreed upon, un-discussed truce. He decided that he didn’t have to like Hyunjin, but he didn’t have to dislike him either. The time for revenge would come if Hyunjin provoked him again. 

They stopped making rude remarks about each other, although they also refrained from dishing out compliments. Instead of glaring at each other when they were in the same room, they just avoided each other’s gazes. They didn’t offer each other a “good morning” either, but the first thing Hyunjin did after yelling for him to wake up, was rehash the schedule for the day. Theirs was a strictly formal working relationship.

Of course that’s not what they’d led the public to believe over the past few days. Much to CEO Park’s annoyance, they dined at McDonald’s daily. Whenever there was a camera pointed in their direction, they gave each other practiced secretive smiles – the kind that made the onlooker go crazy trying to decipher the meaning behind them.

That gossip blog about Hyunjin was turning into quite the ‘Hyunsung’ blog. Jisung abhorred their ship name. They could have come up with something more creative. He was an advocate for ‘Jijin’. Hyunjin maintained that ‘Hyunji’ sounded cuter.

Jisung had to admit (not out loud, of course) that he was impressed by how quickly Hyunjin had been adapting. He shook off his camera-induced dazed faster than usual and Jisung only had to give him a slight nudge to remind him to move. Although he still froze whenever he realized he was being filmed while eating, he recovered faster and managed to finish whatever he’d intended on eating. 

Hwang Hyunjin was tolerable, Jisung had decided. Until now. Until he’d been forced into the practice room with Hyunjin. Until Hyunjin announced that he’d been given permission to re-choreograph one of Jisung’s old songs for that charity dinner he had coming up in a few weeks. 

“Motherfucker,” Jisung murmured under his breath as Hyunjin began to dance.

When Jisung joined the company, he’d been adept at both rapping and singing. Dancing was never his forte and they’d reassured him he wouldn’t have to do it. And the next thing he knew, he was being taught different styles of dance like urban and contemporary and he sucked at it. He was sloppy and messy and lacked the energy he needed.

As the years passed, his choreographers had increased the difficulty of the steps they’d taught him, and Jisung had reached a point where he was content to underperform, making every performance of his lower in quality. That was probably the reason he was losing fans – that and the fact that he hadn’t had a comeback in over a year.

He stood with folded arms, watching with narrowed eyes as Hyunjin went through the entire routine with careful precision, his movements smooth yet strong, flowing yet sharp. A bubble of jealousy began to swell inside Jisung, and his stance grew more hostile as Hyunjin ended the routine in a perfect pose, his facial expression better than Jisung had ever managed.

“Okay,” Hyunjin clapped his hands together, the echoing sound making Jisung snap to attention. “Shall we go over it step by step?”

Teacher Hwang had clearly jumped into the spotlight and Jisung despised it. He made a small noise of assent and watched as Hyunjin showed him the first step.

Jisung attempted to copy it, and to his knowledge, he’d emulated it perfectly. He gave Hyunjin a smug smile and waited for him to continue, but the dancer looked displeased.

“Um,” Hyunjin frowned. “Wanna try that again?”

Jisung was taken aback. “Are you serious?” he glared.

“I just think that if your left foot –”

“You’re just nitpicking!” Jisung shook his head in frustration. “That was the first step and it was literally just a fucking step!”

“Exactly!” Hyunjin glowered. “It’s just a fucking step but you can’t even do  _ that _ properly! No wonder you’re –” He abruptly cut short what he was about to say and looked away.

“No wonder I’m  _ what _ ?” Jisung fixed him with a deathly glare. If one more insult left Hyunjin’s mouth…

Hyunjin hesitated. “I’ve just been uh… I’ve been watching your past performances.”

“And?” Jisung waited for it.

“You’re kind of sloppy on stage.”

Jisung drew a sharp intake of breath and marched towards Hyunjin furiously. Hyunjin called him  _ sloppy _ – of course Jisung was furious. Even though he’d had the exact same thought about himself a minute ago.

“Now, you listen here,” he poked Hyunjin in the chest with every word he spoke, trying not to feel intimidated by their height difference. “You have no idea what it’s like being up there on stage.”

Hyunjin looked down at him with a raised eyebrow, his hands on his hips, not moving an inch. 

He lowered his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “I have to sing. I have to rap. And on top of all that – I have to dance. You don’t have a fucking clue what it’s like trying to focus on everything, so take your judgments elsewhere.” 

“I’m not –” Hyunjin let out an exasperated sigh, and to Jisung’s delight, was the first to back away. “I’m not making any judgments. I’m trying to  _ teach _ you, Han Jisung.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Then teach. Properly. Show me all of it again. And I’ll show you how I can copy it perfectly.” He was bullshitting. He’d never be able to do it perfectly and it was going to be embarrassing when he flopped. 

“Fine,” Hyunjin agreed but didn’t look convinced.

He watched carefully as Hyunjin executed the routine once more. And when Hyunjin finished and gestured for him to go ahead, Jisung inwardly cried in despair, took a deep breath and began to embarrass himself.

Hyunjin had remarkably kept his facial expression impassive throughout and when Jisung finished he didn’t say anything. Instead, he brought three fingers up to his mouth and began to tap them against his lower teeth. He appeared to be deep in thought.

Or he was just left speechless by Jisung’s performance.

Jisung was about to yell at him when he spoke. “You’re good at memorizing moves,” Hyunjin began and the compliment took Jisung by surprise, until, “but…”

Jisung narrowed his eyes.

“But memorizing dance moves is different from the way you memorize lyrics,” Hyunjin continued seemingly unbothered by Jisung’s menacing gaze. “You can know what moves to do, you can see them playing out in your head, but you can’t actually do them until your  _ body _ memorizes them.”

Jisung furrowed his brows. He was confused – not because he didn’t understand what Hyunjin was saying, but because he  _ could _ understand. He didn’t expect to actually learn anything but here he was…

“I noticed…” Hyunjin glanced around at them at the walls. Two walls contained floor-length mirrors. “I noticed you looking at yourself for too long, and when you did, you began to doubt yourself and that’s when you lost precision and your movements became…” He trailed off, and Jisung gave him a knowing look.

He didn’t have to say it.  _ Sloppy _ .

“So… what?” Jisung frowned. “Should I keep my eyes closed?”

Hyunjin nodded. “Let’s try that.”

Jisung was sweating profusely by the time he’d completed the routine for the second time. He panted and chugged down a bottle of water as he waited for Hyunjin’s verdict.

“Better,” Hyunjin gave him a half smile. “But…”

Jisung scowled. “Seriously…”

“But you keep opening your eyes every few seconds and it’s causing you to falter.” Hyunjin bit his lip. “I want to… try something.”

“Try what?” Jisung looked at him skeptically. “Being a better teacher?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and to his credit, ignored the jibe. “Try not to injure me, okay?” He walked up behind Jisung and placed his hands over his eyes. “We don’t have a blindfold so this will have to do for now.”

Oh. 

Hyunjin stood a few steps back and had leaned forward to cover his eyes, leaving as much space between their bodies to allow for Jisung to move freely. But even with the gap between them he could smell Hyunjin’s sweet floral scented cologne and having his hands over his eyes unnerved him. This was probably the most physical contact they’d ever had. No. He remembered that time they were fighting on the floor of the conference room. Hyunjin had been straddling him and –

Jisung shook the thought out of his mind. He didn’t need to be thinking about  _ that _ right now. He hoped Hyunjin couldn’t feel the warmth flooding his face. 

“Uh, you can start.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jisung’s cheeks began to feel even warmer.

He began the routine. His memory aided him by playing back everything he’d seen Hyunjin do, and it helped immensely that he wasn’t able to see himself and criticize his execution of the routine. Even though he knew he’d (accidentally) kicked Hyunjin in the shins a few times, he also  _ knew _ that he’d done well. He turned around to face Hyunjin, brimming with expectation.

“Oh, that was great,” Hyunjin dropped his hands, a bright smile on his face, and perhaps the first genuine smile he’d ever given Jisung.

Jisung grinned back at him, unable to help himself. “Thanks.” He looked down at his feet. “It feels different when I’m not looking at myself. You were right.”

Hyunjin looked at him with a mixture of relief and something else…  _ Pride? _

The door to the practice room opened and both of them turned in surprise. “Oh hey,” Jisung greeted Changbin. The dark haired male looked just as surprised to see them. 

“Hey,” he looked from Jisung to Hyunjin. “Are you guys still using this room? I booked it for 1pm but if you’re not done…”

“I think we’ve had enough for today,” Hyunjin spoke up. He was already gathering his things from the floor.

Jisung had to agree. He was drenched in sweat. “Give me a minute,” he said to Hyunjin, collapsing on the couch. “We can leave soon.”

Hyunjin nodded and threw him a bottle of water. “Sure.”

Changbin switched on his music and both Jisung and Hyunjin watched as he began his routine. Changbin had always been a better dancer than Jisung. It was one of the reasons the company decided not to debut them as a duo. It was too unbalanced, they said. Jisung had always been envious. Changbin could rap, sing and dance effortlessly. He was even a great lyricist and producer, and with his recent appearances in dramas, he was really everything Jisung wanted to be.

“Is that for your charity dinner performance?” Jisung asked, when Changbin slowed to a stop.

Changbin nodded, mouth downturned into a frown. “I’m trying to change up some of the choreo, but this is just not working.”

“Can I suggest something?” Hyunjin spoke up, rather quietly, almost like he hoped Changbin wouldn’t hear. 

_ Star-struck _ . Jisung rolled his eyes.

Changbin’s eyes widened and he stared at Hyunjin like it was the most surprising thing anyone has ever asked him. He recovered after a few seconds. “Yeah, sure.”

Jisung watched as they began a discussion on how best to execute a complicated move without losing balance. It was a move that exceeded Jisung’s current skillset and it made him scowl to see both of them execute it effortlessly. It made him feel embarrassed about being proud of the simple routine he’d learned a few minutes ago.

A few minutes turned into an hour and Jisung was still sitting sour-faced on the couch while Changbin and Hyunjin danced together like they were experts on some dancing show and Jisung was the audience. He was beginning to feel rather… left out. 

And of course he’d feel left out! Hwang Hyunjin was his manger-teacher-choreographer, and here he was spending time teaching someone else! The audacity! 

Jisung had enough of it. “We need to get going, Hyunjin.”

Both Changbin and Hyunjin seemed taken by surprise, as though they’d forgotten entirely he was there. And nothing pissed Jisung off more than being forgotten. He gave Changbin a curt nod and marched out of the door, hoping for Hyunjin’s sake that he was following.

Hyunjin caught up with him just as he slid into the backseat of the car. “Sorry about that,” the blonde slid in after him and closed the door. “Got a bit caught up.”

Jisung pursed his lips together. “Yeah, I saw.”

“You saw?” Hyunjin cast him a fearful glance.

“I saw you dancing together and wasting my time,” Jisung clarified, raising an eyebrow. “What else was there to see?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin leaned back against the seat. “Nothing at all.”

“Just remember who you work for.” Jisung had to remind him. Changbin had his own team. Jisung would not allow him to snatch anyone from his team. Sure, they were friends, but in this industry they were also competitors. Changbin’s sales were almost four times higher than Jisung’s. He didn’t need Hyunjin. 

Jisung kept his eyes glued on the window as they journeyed back to the dorm. Neither of them ever bothered with small talk, but today the silence was deafening. Jisung was glad when he was back inside the confines of his house and Hyunjin had wandered off to his bedroom.

Jisung leaned against the kitchen counter, stuffing his mouth with caramel popcorn. It was overly sweet and crunchy and delicious and made Jisung’s insides tingle. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste, when he heard the beep of the intercom, signaling that someone was at the gate.

His eyes flew open. Who the hell would want to visit him? He made his way to the foyer and stared into the screen secured onto the wall. Was that…? “Changbin?”

“Yeah, can I come in?”

“Sure.” Jisung buzzed him in, wondering what had brought him all the way there when they’d just seen each other not so long ago.

He watched from the doorway as Changbin parked his car in the driveway and marched up to the house. “What’s up?” Jisung gave him a curious smile, and gestured for him to come in.

Changbin stopped in the foyer. “Actually, I came to uh – Hyunjin left his phone in the practice room.”

“Oh.” Jisung looked down at the device in his hand. “I’ll give that to him then,” he reached for the phone but Changbin pulled his hand back.

“Can I talk to him?”

Changbin wants to talk to Hyunjin? Had he made that good of an impression? Jisung stared at him for a beat, before nodding. “Sure. I’ll just find him.” And when he heard the clanging in the kitchen, he realized he didn’t have to go far. “He’s here in the kitchen.”

Hyunjin was in the middle of flipping an omelet when Changbin and Jisung walked in. He did a double take and the expression on his face reminded Jisung of a kid who knew they were about to be given detention. “You left your phone in the practice room,” Jisung informed him.

Changbin placed the phone on the counter. “Hi.”

“Thanks,” Hyunjin grabbed his phone off the counter, and rather belatedly added, “Hi.” And then, he remembered the omelet he’d abandoned on the stove and made a beeline for it, trying to scrape the burned thing off the pan and onto a plate. “Sorry,” he murmured, casting a quick glance at Changbin as if he had been the one who asked for an omelet.

Changbin shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to talk about something.” 

Hyunjin looked up from the burned mess, and his eyes widened. He looked at Jisung worriedly. Did he want permission to talk to Changbin? Jisung gave him a shrug and nonchalantly opened the cupboard pretending to look for something, but really wanting to eavesdrop. Hyunjin was  _ his _ manager-teacher-choreographer and he had a right to know what he was discussing with other idols.

“Are you going to make another one?” Changbin asked, obviously enquiring about the burnt omelet. 

“Nah,” Hyunjin chuckled. “It’s just the underside that’s burnt. I’ll manage.”

“That’s good.”

Changbin sounded a bit like he was purposefully delaying the conversation. Was he waiting for Jisung to leave? With a smug smile on his face, Jisung raised his eyebrows and continued his exploration of the cupboard. 

“So…?” Hyunjin was obviously impatient.

Changbin sighed, probably realizing he had no choice but to plough through with it. “Are you free tomorrow?”

Jisung’s fingers dug into a packet of marshmallows. Where the fuck was this going? What did he want with Jisung’s manager-teacher-choreographer?

“Uh,” Hyunjin sounded hesitant.

Jisung tried to remember whether he had anything scheduled for tomorrow. Tomorrow was Sunday. It was his free day. So Hyunjin would be free too. He couldn’t stop Hyunjin from doing what he wanted to do on his off days.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin finally said. “I think so.”

“Great,” Changbin sounded relieved. Jisung glanced over his shoulder and saw them both staring down at the burnt omelet like it was the most fascinating sight. “I was thinking…” Changbin sighed. “No, I was wondering whether you’d be able to help me a bit with my choreography.”

“Ah.” The word dropped out of Hyunjin’s mouth and he immediately locked eyes with Jisung who stared at him, putting all his warnings into that stare.

_ Don’t you dare, Hwang Hyunjin. Don’t you dare. You’re my manager-teacher-choreographer. Not his. _

“If Jisung doesn’t mind, of course,” Changbin added.

Jisung whipped around in disbelief. Now he’d be forced out of politeness to say that he didn’t mind, and Hyunjin would obviously take the opportunity…

“Do you?” Changbin waited for Jisung’s answer.

“No,” Jisung squeezed the bag of marshmallows between his hands and forced a smile. “I don’t mind.”

“Then Hyunjin…?” Changbin looked at him expectantly.

“I’ll help you.”

There was a loud pop as the bag of marshmallows burst open.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed these updates and I'm sorry they took so long. Thank you for reading this far <3


	15. Chapter 15

And just like that, Minho had begun avoiding Chan again. He could only imagine the things Seungmin had said about him after he’d run out of the apartment. Chan would know by now that Minho was crazy – a freak. 

Of course, Chan had come looking for him. That very same night, Minho had tucked himself into bed, ignoring Chan’s persistent knocks. After half an hour they’d faded to soft taps, barely audible as Minho had dosed off.

And he’d come back. Every morning, and every evening, he’d knock, and plead with Minho to give him just a minute of his time. Minho always refused, keeping silent, hardly daring to breathe until he heard Chan’s door slam shut.

It was Thursday afternoon, and Minho had just returned home from a tiring day of work. He’d had three customers try to buy the wrong dress fit and he’d had to work tirelessly trying to convince them to change their minds. He just needed to put his feet up and relax. After all, that charity dinner was in a few days and he didn’t want to ruin his face with any more stress-induced wrinkles.

He’d barely made onto the couch when he heard the knocks. He sat down quietly, eyes wide as he waited for the taps to abate. But they continued sporadically, and when he heard several whispers he strained his ears trying to figure out who was disturbing the peace.

“Minho?” the voice was hesitant but he recognized it.  _ Jeongin _ . “Can we talk to you for a minute?”

_ We _ ? Minho pursed his lips. He imagined the bunch of them outside his door waiting to ambush him with more questions.

“It’s just the three of us.”  _ Felix _ . “I mean, just Jeongin, Seungmin and me.”

He wondered why they were there without Chan. Did they want to laugh at him? Did they want to mock him? To tell him to stay away from them?

“We just want to apologize,” Felix spoke again. “We shouldn’t have asked you anything personal. We were…”

“Dumb?” Jeongin offered.

“Yeah,” Felix sounded defeated. “We were dumb. And Chan’s pretty mad at us for it.”

“But we’re apologizing,” Jeongin spoke up. “So please don’t be angry at Chan.”

Minho noticed Seungmin’s silence but didn’t hold it against him. At least, it seemed that he hadn’t told them about his and Minho’s tiff. Minho appreciated that.

He approached the door cautiously, opening it just a sliver and then just wide enough to see the three stare at him in surprise. 

“We’re sorry,” Felix repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Minho nodded, offering a small smile in return. “It’s okay.”

“He’s in there,” Felix pointed at Chan’s apartment door. “I mean, the three of us were just leaving so he’s alone, if you want to uh… talk.”

“Um… Oh-okay,” Minho stared at the door, conflicted as to whether he did indeed want to talk to Chan.

“Let’s get going,” Seungmin whispered, nudging Felix and Jeongin. Felix grinned and waved goodbye while Jeongin just offered a curt nod. Seungmin on the other hand, glared at Minho with narrowed eyes, his disapproval evident.

It took half an hour for Minho to steel himself and walk the few steps to Chan’s apartment. Chan opened the door on the third knock and his eyes lit up at the sight of Minho. His dimpled smile made Minho flush and he had to scold himself for reacting that way.

“Uh, hi,” Minho gulped, lowering his gaze and feeling highly intimidated. “I um, I can’t bake biscuits so um…” he held out the bowl of grapes. “I don’t know if this is uh…” he blushed profusely. He had never done this kind of thing before.

Chan’s eyes widened, and he seemed struck for a few seconds. “This – This is…” he sighed and Minho lifted his gaze, glad to find Chan still smiling. “I actually  _ love _ grapes. Want to come in?”

Minho sat down, glancing at the laptop that was open on the table. “Were you busy?” he bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t interrupted anything important.

“Just working on music,” Chan shrugged, sitting beside Minho. “It can wait.”

“Your friends apologized,” Minho blurted, wanting to get it out of the way. Chan raised his brows in surprise. “I told them it’s okay. And it is, really. You don’t have to be angry at them.”

“They shouldn’t have interrogated you like that,” Chan wrung his hands. “I wanted so badly for you to join us and they scared you away.”

Minho glanced at him, his lips involuntarily curving into a smile. “I came back now, didn’t I?”

“You did, and I’m happy.”

Minho stared at the ground, fingers picking the threads on his jeans while he debated how to respond.

“Minho?” 

He lifted his gaze to Chan’s, breath hitching at the intensity with which the blonde was looking at him.

“I want to be honest about something.”

Minho nodded for him to go on.

“I – I don’t know how to say any of this,” Chan ran his fingers through his mop of curls. “I don’t know how you’re going to react and…” he groaned. “You know, usually, this would be simple. You tell the person you’re interested, you ask them out on a date and… But it’s not simple with you. Because you’re different. And that’s one of the reasons I want to get to know you.”

Minho gaped. The words rang in his mind along with several alarm bells.  _ Interested? Date? _

“I’m not asking you out on a date,” Chan clarified, probably noting the terror in Minho’s eyes. “I’m asking for a chance to get to know you, a chance to show you who I am.”

Minho took a few seconds. “But why?” he finally asked, his voice was soft, unsure, afraid. “Jisung…”

“I know how you feel about Jisung,” Chan nodded. “And I get it. The day that he…” he struggled to find the words. “The day that he accepts you into his life, I’ll be happy for you.” Minho had to give him credit for phrasing it so nicely. No one had ever been so understanding of it before. “But until then, just give me a chance.”

There was no reason why Minho shouldn’t say yes to his request. After all, Chan had already told him he wasn’t asking to date him. Getting to know each other would be okay. Wasn’t that what people did? And it would help him feel less lonely. There really was no reason to decline. 

“I’ll give you a chance.”

Minho didn’t realize that giving Chan a chance would mean spending so much time together. Nor did he realize he would have to give up some of the time he used to watch Jisung compilations on YouTube. 

But he grew to enjoy their time together. Mostly, Minho enjoyed the afternoons they spent playing video games, which usually ended with dinner at Chan’s apartment. Chan usually managed to tempt him into eating a bowl of pasta or some pizza. And though Minho was all too aware of the calories going into his body, he enjoyed the conversation shared between them.

Chan usually blurted out random facts about himself – that he loved swimming, that his parents call him every week from Australia, that he considers DJ-ing more of a hobby than a career and that he takes night classes in business a few times a week. 

In return, Minho offered small morsels of information about himself – that he was from a small fishing village, that he loved the color green, that he loved makeup and fashion but hated the socialization required from his work, that he’d always wanted a cat but could never get one because of Jisung’s preference for dogs. 

Chan always lit up when Minho divulged those little details, and he never pressed for more or frowned when Jisung was mentioned. 

That was why Minho didn’t refuse when on one warm night he’d asked if he wanted to take a walk with him. They walked along the promenade, stars twinkling above them as they munched on their ice cream cones. Minho had been about to comment on the view when their knuckles brushed and he sucked in a breath, a frenzy of butterflies taking flight in his stomach. 

He stared straight ahead as they walked, holding back a squeak when it happened again a minute later. He pressed his lips together, his cheeks feeling incredibly warm. He considered switching his cone to the hand that hung dangerously close to Chan’s, but for some reason, his hand refused to obey his order and stayed put.

Ever so slowly, Chan’s fingers wove through his, pressing their palms together lightly at first, testing, and then more firmly. Minho’s fingers trembled around his cone, and his breath grew shaky. He hadn’t expected the blanket of warmth that enveloped him simply from having his hand held.

Minho hadn’t done this before. He’d never been this close with anyone. He’d never  _ allowed _ anyone this close. And it scared him that he was allowing it now. But still, he held on.

Until his phone vibrated and he was forced to leave Chan’s hand to dig into his pocket. He frowned when he saw the notification from that blog –  _ The Hyunsung Blog _ .

He pursed his lips and considered ignoring it. He was having a nice time with Chan and –

But Jisung. This was about Jisung. He had to know.

The page opened to the latest post and Minho paled at the heading –  _ Hyunsung Skate Park Date! _

He felt nauseated at the images glaring up at him. Jisung and his manager were alone in a skate park, at night. They were holding hands in a few of the pictures, and in some they appeared to be… hugging. 

“Oh god,” he murmured, tears springing to his eyes.

Chan looked at him in alarm and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Minho? What is it?”

“Ji-Jisung,” tears began to stream down his cheeks, and though he wiped them away, fresh tears began as soon as he recalled the images. “H-He…” He handed the phone to Chan who scrolled through the post with wide eyes.

“Oh,” he gave Minho a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Minho.”

Minho’s body began to shake as he dissolved into sobs, not caring about the couples on the promenade that stared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Chan repeated gently. And Minho let him wrap his arms around him. 

“It hurts,” Minho whispered into Chan’s chest as his sobs died down. “It really hurts.”


	16. Chapter 16

There were a million things Jisung could be doing – writing lyrics, making music, practicing choreography, sleeping… But here he was, attempting for the first time in his life to roast a chicken. Of course, this was all Hwang Hyunjin’s fault.

For the past five days, Hyunjin had spent the afternoons with Changbin, only coming back to the dorm under the cover of night. “I helped him with his dancing,” was always Hyunjin’s excuse, and then, “we ended up having dinner at his place.”

But Jisung had enough. Tonight he would show Hyunjin that he was just as capable of cooking as Changbin was, and perhaps he could even do it better. He would create such a meal, Hyunjin would not be able to resist. 

Jisung was just as good as Changbin. He could prove it.

He scrolled through the recipe once more, making sure he’d not missed out anything before placing the chicken in the oven. He returned to the stove, diligently stirring his pot of pasta. He tried to recall whether he’d ever seen Hyunjin eat pasta, but shrugged and got on with the sauce. He’ll just put a whole lot of cheese in it – who could resist that?

When everything was ready, he set the dining room table that hadn’t been used since he moved in. It required a fair bit of dusting before he set the dishes down. 

And then he waited. Hyunjin was usually back by 8pm. But the minutes were ticking by, and Jisung had begun to grow uneasy. He felt foolish. Why had he even bothered with all of this? All those hours wasted in the kitchen for no reason. He didn’t even have an appetite to eat any of it himself.

He was just about to start packing everything away when he heard the front door open. He glanced at his watch – 21:10. 

He’d originally planned to make it look like he was about to have dinner on his own and was inviting Hyunjin to join out of politeness, but it would seem quite ridiculous pretending to sit down to a cold dinner at 21:10.

He stepped out of the living room and hung back in the hallway, knowing Hyunjin would have to pass to get to his room. He tried to calm his nerves as Hyunjin walked towards him, his head hung, bangs falling over his eyes. 

“Hyunj –”

“Hey,” Hyunjin’s voice was barely a whisper as he walked straight past Jisung. 

Jisung gaped.  _ How rude. _

“Hyunjin, wait,” he called after the blonde, his mouth twisted into a frown.

Hyunjin’s shoulders rose as he heaved a sigh and he turned back around, but kept his eyes on the ground. “Yeah?”

“I cooked,” Jisung huffed, cheeks warming. “I made dinner. For – For you.” Hyunjin lifted his gaze now and Jisung was taken aback by how red and blotchy his eyes were. He’d been crying. Something must have happened with Changbin, but  _ what _ ? 

Hyunjin’s brows drew together. “You made dinner for me?”

Jisung nodded, his cheeks positively burning now. “I thought since you – you spend so much time eating dinner with Changbin…”

At the mention of Changbin, something flashed in Hyunjin’s eyes – hurt, anger?

“It won’t happen again.” He spun around and slammed his room door behind him.

Jisung stared after him in mild shock. He felt highly offended that Hyunjin hadn’t even thanked him for dinner let alone actually eaten something. And if he was being honest, he was worried too. What did Hyunjin mean when he said that it wouldn’t happen again? Was he not going to see Changbin again?

Jisung sat at the dining room table, sighing in frustration. He speared a halved roast potato onto his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. He’d only begun chewing when he heard Hyunjin’s bedroom door open again, and his eyes widened at the approaching footsteps.

“That was rude of me,” Hyunjin murmured from the doorway. “Sorry.”

Jisung blinked in surprise, unable to respond because of his potato-stuffed mouth. He attempted a muffled “It’s fine” and Hyunjin nodded in reply, taking a seat at the far end of the table. 

Jisung watched wide-eyed as he spooned some pasta onto a plate. He lifted a forkful to his mouth but froze, dropping it back onto his plate. And then, to Jisung’s discomfort, he covered his face with his hands. He was pretty sure Hyunjin was crying now. The dancer’s shoulders shook, and soft sniffles could be heard. 

As tempted as Jisung was to make a quiet exit, he couldn’t be that cruel. So he just stared, chewing rapidly as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin dropped his hands, using his sleeve to wipe his wet cheeks. “Uh…” he cleared his throat. “The reason I applied to choreograph at the company was because of Changbin.”

Jisung’s brows furrowed. “Changbin? You were a fan?”

Hyunjin made a strangled noise. “I was his boyfriend.”

“What?” Jisung gawked, his mouth dropping open to reveal bits of mashed potato. “You  _ what _ ?”

“We dated in high school,” Hyunjin admitted, his voice slightly shaky. “No one knew, obviously. He was already an idol back then.”

“Changbin is – is he  _ gay _ ?” Jisung could not get over this fact. 

Hyunjin nodded.

“But Leyeon!” Jisung spluttered. “He and Leyeon…”

“He was forced into it by the company,  _ apparently _ ,” Hyunjin gave a bland chuckle. “That’s when we broke up. I thought I could make our relationship work if I got into the company as a choreographer. But then the thing with Leyeon… He broke up with me.”

Jisung swallowed, narrowing his eyes in understanding. “So then these past few days you’ve been seeing him…”

“It was just supposed to be me helping him with his dancing, honestly,” Hyunjin shrugged. “But then he – today he – he…”

“He what?”

“He kissed me,” Hyunjin said softly, staring down at his plate. 

Jisung felt a spike of jealousy and a flare of possessiveness that seemed to emerge sporadically these days. 

“He said he wanted to work things out, that we’d keep it a secret,” there was a tremble in Hyunjin’s voice. 

“And what did you say?” Jisung waited with bated breath.

“That I don’t want to be his secret. And I – I don’t feel the same for him anyway. He broke my heart when he just… He just left me.” He locked eyes with Jisung. “I won’t – I won’t go to him again. This…” he gestured to the spread on the table. “Thank you for this. I know I sounded ungrateful back there.”

“You did,” Jisung agreed. “But you’re upset and I… I get it.”

“You do?”

Jisung nodded. “I’ve never been in a relationship,” he admitted. “But if I were in your position I’d…” He laughed. “Actually, I’d probably punch him.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Hyunjin huffed out a laugh.

“Want to do something fun?”

Hyunjin raised his brows. “If you’re suggesting we burn down Changbin’s house…”

“Never crossed my mind,” Jisung lied, lips curving into a smug smile. “I was thinking… Chocolate, ice cream, caramel popcorn…”

Hyunjin scoffed. “That isn’t fun – that’s diabetes.”

“Any better ideas?” Jisung pouted angrily.

“Sure.”

“This is stupid.” Jisung’s voice was muffled by his mask, and he brushed his bangs out of the way as he scanned the dark, empty concrete area.

“You wanted to have fun,” Hyunjin laughed, lowering his own mask to take a sip of water.

“Yeah but this is  _ stupid _ fun,” Jisung whined. “I don’t even know how to use that thing.” He glanced at the skateboard tucked under Hyunjin’s arm.

“I know,” Hyunjin shrugged. “I’ll show you.” 

Jisung watched as he set the skateboard down, hopped on, and did a simple back and forth movement. With the skateboard set down between them, he held out his hand. “Hold my hand.”

Jisung recoiled. “I am  _ not _ holding your hand.” Imagine thinking he could just hold Han Jisung’s hand whenever he wanted to. The nerve…

“Fine,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Get on.”

“I can do that,” Jisung gave him a smug look. How hard could it be? He placed a foot onto the board, and immediately knew that he’d underestimated the level of skill required for this. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip and stepped up onto the board with his other foot, but before he could even get a feel for it, the board was slipping away from under his feet. His heart lurched and he screeched, making grabbing motions with his hands until he caught hold of something to steady himself.

With his feet planted firmly on the board, he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked up at Hyunjin’s leering face. “So you didn’t want to hold my hand, but you’re holding onto my…” His eyes flickered down and Jisung followed his gaze, reddening when he realized he’d wrapped his arms around Hyunjin’s waist, his fingers clenching the back of the dancer’s shirt. And he wasn’t stupid enough to let go. He didn’t fancy falling face first into concrete. “Maybe I should’ve held your hand,” he muttered.

Hyunjin chuckled. “I don’t know. You look pretty comfortable like this. “

“Shut up,” Jisung muttered, looking down at his feet. “So um… What now?”

“I mean… It would be easier if you weren’t almost hugging me.”

“I – I’m not!” Jisung argued, but really, he was. He was just afraid that if he let go he was going to end up in the ER. 

“You can hold my hands,” Hyunjin offered with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, but I actually have to let go to do that!” Jisung’s eyes widened at the realization.

Hyunjin sighed, reaching for Jisung’s hands and prying them away from the back of his shirt. The skateboard wobbled slightly, and Jisung held his breath, but all was well, and his hands were firmly in Hyunjin’s. 

Hyunjin taught him how to propel himself forward, how to move side to side and how to stop without toppling over. He always placed himself near Jisung, ensuring he was always there when mishaps nearly happened, and all in all, it was a fulfilling night.

“Thank you,” Jisung offered him a smile as he took a swig of water and pulled up his mask. It was late and they were heading home. The street was deserted but it was better to be safe. He glanced at Hyunjin. With his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the ground it was hard to tell what he was feeling. “I meant to cheer you up but I ended up having a great time instead.”

“I had a great time too,” Hyunjin looked at him, eyes forming crescents, indicative of a smile beneath the mask. “It felt good just… Just getting away from everything.”

“I understand,” Jisung nodded. He wished it was like this all the time. Quiet, serene – 

“Did you see that?”

Jisung snapped to attention. “What?”

“I thought I saw something shiny,” he clicked his tongue. “My imagination, I guess.”

“Been watching too many horror movies?” Jisung teased, wiggling his brows. “Afraid that the boogie man is going to get you?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes but laughed. “He’s walking right beside me. I’m not scared of him.”

Jisung swatted his shoulder, but joined in his laughter. “You’re not so bad, Hyunjin.”

“Yeah, you’re not so bad either, Jisung.”

The musician looked at him in surprise. It was the first time Hyunjin hadn’t called him ‘Han Jisung’, hadn’t said his name like it was a curse. 

Something changed. Jisung just couldn’t place his finger on it. But it was a good change, and it made him smile.

And then he saw the flash of a camera.


	17. Chapter 17

It had been a few weeks since the Jisung-Hyunjin Scandal, or as it was better known – the Hyunsung Scandal. When a popular musician’s secret romance was unearthed it naturally became big news, and when someone as popular as Han Jisung had a dating scandal… Well, it would be front-page news for a  _ long _ time. 

Minho wasn’t coping well, although he liked to tell Chan that he was. It was difficult coming to terms with the fact that the man you thought you’d be spending the rest of your life with, was happier with someone else. It was a shock to the system, and Minho was still reeling from it. Not to mention, he was confused. 

The agency flat out denied that Jisung and the manager were in a relationship. “We’re just good friends,” Jisung had simpered during a short radio interview.

But wasn’t that what they all were supposed to say? And the photos spoke for themselves! Nt just the skatepark photos but every other photo of Jisung and Hyunjin too. Jisung looked  _ happy _ in them. His eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked at Hyunjin. And every time they were together, it was suddenly obvious from the way they snuck glances at each other, how they whispered in each other’s ears, how they found excuses to touch each other – brushing off invisible specks of dirt.

But despite that – despite the  _ overwhelming _ evidence – Minho could not believe that the life he’d imagined with Jisung would not become a reality. He’d wished too long,  _ too hard _ , for it not to be. 

Chan had been Minho’s only pillar of support, and the only reason he got out of bed in the mornings. He made sure Minho was taken care of, that he had three meals a day, that he showered every morning, that he went to work. He stopped by Minho’s workplace at exactly 12 ‘o clock every day, taking him out for something to eat.

In the evenings they ate together, then sat down to a movie or played videogames. Weekends were spent similarly, except Jeongin, Seungmin and Felix joined in. Although interactions between Minho and Seungmin were non-existent, the others filled him with a sense of comfort and gave him a reason to smile. 

There were times where Minho felt as though he was imposing, that he had no business inserting himself into Chan’s life. But when he voiced those concerns, Chan was quick to reassure him that he was very much wanted. It was easy talking to Chan. He listened without judgment, and advised only when asked.

Minho had been able to tell him things he’d never told others – about his mother and how she’d left him with his grandparents, about what it was like growing up. 

Other times, Minho also lamented, thinking wistfully of Jisung. He hadn’t known that this might be the thing to finally set things off balance. Because if he had known, he would have kept his laments to himself. 

“I thought we’d be perfect together, you know? I mean, I can imagine it when I look in the mirror. We’d be perfect standing beside each other. It’s always been crystal clear to me. Making him pancakes in the morning, doing our hair and makeup together, snuggling on the couch and watching a movie, picnics on the beach…”

Minho sighed, looking away from the TV and staring off into the distance. Usually, Chan just listened. But today…

“I can do all of that with you.” Chan’s voice was soft, a whisper, but it resonated in the silence around them. The videogame they’d been playing was long forgotten.

Minho turned away from the window, noting the nervous smile on Chan’s face, his eyes wide with hope, his shoulders squared as he looked up at Minho from his armchair. “I can do all of it with you,” he repeated, rising to his feet. 

Minho recoiled from his approach, his brows knitted together. “Chan, what do you mean? Jisung…”

“But if he’s seeing someone else,” Chan began, stopping in his tracks, lowering his hand that had reached out for Minho, “you can finally move on from – from this  _ thing _ – can’t you? Minho it’s been weeks. We can –”

“ _ We _ ?” Move on? What was Chan saying? What was he thinking? “How can you assume such a thing? There is no  _ we _ . You’ll never be Jisung.” Minho’s words were harsher than he intended, but it was too late to undo the hurt that flashed in Chan’s eyes. “Chan, I just…”

“I think you should leave, Minho,” Chan’s voice shook and he covered his face with his hands, slumping back into his armchair.

Something settled between Minho and Chan since then. It wasn’t animosity, or discomfort, not even disappointment. It was a vacant space and neither of them was willing to cross the distance to eradicate that space.

There were no more takeaway dinners shared in front of the TV, or weekends playing videogames. They no longer went to feed the family of ducks at that pond in the park Chan had introduced him to. There were no walks along the promenade or visits to the ice cream parlor.

Minho had been thrust back into the loneliness that encompassed his life before Chan came along. And he tried to be content with it, with watching old concert footage, music videos and Jisung compilations on YouTube. But it wasn’t the same. It was as if a crucial piece of his life had been ripped away. 

When he’d just moved in to his apartment, the walls were a bright green color that he detested, and he’d lived with it for months until he bought a can of paint, changing the color to a creamy white. But he’d regretted it as soon as he’d looked at the finished product. He missed the green walls. 

He felt the same now. He missed Chan.

They made no effort to greet each other when they passed in the hallway. In fact, they couldn’t even make eye contact. 

On one Friday evening – an important one for Minho – he stepped out of his apartment to find Chan about to unlock his. Chan froze for a second before proceeding to turn the key in the lock. 

It should have been easy for Minho to continue on his way out, to keep his head down, his hands in the pocket of his coat. But he couldn’t ignore his longing, a need to have Chan present in his life again, a need for Chan to understand why he needed Jisung. 

“Will you come with me, please?” 

Chan turned around, gaping. “Excuse me?” He blinked rapidly, as if he was imagining the whole thing.

“I mean,” Minho hesitated, “I need to show you something. It’s important.”

“Ah…” A crease in his forehead, Chan studied him for a few seconds, one arm holding a bag of groceries against his chest, the other still trying to unlock his door.

“Please?” Minho couldn’t believe that he was begging. This was personal. He’d never shared this with anyone. But he was pleading with Chan to let him share this with him.

“Okay, then.”

Minho breathed a sigh of relief.

Downtown was busy. Students were just finishing up a busy week of classes, couples were meeting after work, families going for end of week dinners. On the bus, Chan had attempted several times to ask Minho where they were going.

“Just wait,” he urged the blonde. “Just a little more.” A little more until Minho revealed his secret.

They were walking down the street now, shops turning their flashing light displays on, and neon signs lighting up above their heads. Minho kept a hand on Chan’s elbow, steering him into a diner. 

“Table for two, please,” he smiled at the concierge.

A waiter led them into the dining area and Minho indicated the table he was after. When they were seated, their order for drinks given, Chan looked at Minho skeptically. “If you just wanted to take me out…”

“Hush.” Minho placed a finger over his lips. “Do you see that family near the fish tank?”

A large fish tank stood on one end of the dining area, an array of colorful tropical fish swimming around and delighting the little kids who stood with faces pressed against the glass.

Chan nodded, his eyes on the middle aged man and woman, and two younger males – their sons, Minho had realized long ago. “Who are they?”

Minho worried at his lip, drumming his fingers on the table. “The woman is my mother.”

Chan whipped around to face Minho, his jaw hanging. “Are – are you sure? Minho, you said that you’ve never met your mother. So how –”

“Here.” Minho flipped open his wallet, retrieving the creased black and white polaroid. The woman in the polaroid had a bright smile, wild hair flying behind her. “I found this in my grandfather’s wallet just before I came into the city.”

Chan looked from the woman in the polaroid, to the woman seated with her family. Minho knew what he saw. The woman had the same smooth nose bridge as Minho, the same jawline, the same lip corners. It seemed that Minho had very little of his father in him. The resemblance between him and his mother was undeniable. 

“I came to the city for Jisung,” Minho admitted, “and then one day, a few months after moving here, I had to attend a yearend work dinner here at the diner. I saw her for the first time then.”

“Oh, Minho,” Chan gave him a sympathetic look, “I’m – well, I don’t know what to say, really. You’ve been coming here for years?”

Minho nodded, his eyes downcast. “I figured out that she and her family come here once a month. So I do too. Not brave enough to approach her though. So I keep my distance.” When Chan reached for his hand, Minho didn’t pull away. He raised his eyes to meet Chan’s. “I needed you to see this. To see why – why I need Jisung.” Chan’s palm tensed above his, but stayed in place. “My mother never wanted me. I was always a symbol of a bad past to her, a symbol of her mistake. So she discarded me. Left me.  _ Rejected _ me. But Jisung was there when she wasn’t. And if – if he rejects me too…” Minho choked back a sob, aware that if burst into tears it would attract more attention than was necessary. 

Chan squeezed his hand. “I understand now,” he nodded. “I do. I – I wish it was different, that I could be enough. But I get why it has to be Jisung. I just…” he sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as he contemplated his next words. “I worry that things won’t happen the way you want them to.”

“I know,” Minho sniffled, a stray tear gliding down his cheek. “I know that. Chan, just once, I need to try at least. I know I can’t control how he feels. I wouldn’t want to. But I need to see him, to meet him. I need  _ him _ to see  _ me _ .”

“He will.” And Chan sounded so certain that Minho had to smile.   
  
  
  
  



	18. Chapter 18

Two invitations, enclosed within expensive white envelopes, gold trim and all, sat on the table between Jisung and Hyunjin. 

“I won’t go.”

There was finality in Hyunjin’s tone, but he was just being ridiculous. “Of course, you’ll go,” Jisung frowned. “I have to go. It’ll look bad if I don’t. And if I go and you don’t, how will that look?”

Hyunjin lifted his shoulders in a non-committal shrug, staring down the invitations like he could force them into running back to their sender.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung sighed. He knew he was whining now, but Hyunjin was so stubborn… “You know we have to keep up this – this – this thing.” Why was it so difficult to call it a charade? Wasn’t that exactly what it was?

Who knew that a small outing to a skate park would create such a ruckus? Not Jisung. He never imagined this. The first week after they’d been ‘caught’ out on their ‘date’ the most popular talk shows and magazines had scheduled interviews with Jisung. 

As per the company’s request, Jisung had teased them with, “We’re just friends.” And that set off another frenzy of speculation and accusation. Jisung had never been this popular before, and it was all such a mistake. He hadn’t even meant for this to happen.

Still, he took it in stride. 

Hyunjin on the other hand, was like a fish out of water. He freaked out whenever he got a call for an interview and promptly declined. He’d also gotten several offers for brand endorsements which he of course turned down. 

“Live a little,” Jisung had nudged him after he’d turned down the first offer of an interview. “Sure, this all a huge misunderstanding, but you should soak up the benefits.”

“No way,” Hyunjin had huffed out, crossing his arms. “I’m not going to accept a job offer just because people think I’m your boyfriend. I have more dignity than that.”

“Dignity,” Jisung had scoffed, ignoring the seething look Hyunjin gave him.

Where was Hyunjin’s dignity when they went to McDonald’s at 2am, feeding each other French-fries while the star struck staff videoed them? When Hyunjin put an arm around him as they left the studio? When Hyunjin played with Jisung’s hair or rested his head on his shoulder at the airport? With all his fake affection and camera-ready touches he certainly hadn’t mentioned any concern for his dignity then.

But a few weeks later, it appeared that Hyunjin was still struggling to keep up with their… their  _ thing _ . Especially with the arrival of these invitations…

“Don’t you think it’s strange,” Hyunjin made a steeple with his fingers now, eyes narrowed, “that all this played out exactly as the company hoped it would? I mean, they wanted us to fake date and now…”

Jisung chewed contemplatively on a bite of the enchilada Hyunjin had made for dinner. “Crossed my mind too,” he admitted, “but why dwell on it? If it works, it works. We’ll play it to our advantage for as long as we can. When they finally figure out that they’re never going to get confirmation from us, the hype will die down.”

“It feels…”

Jisung glanced at his blonde companion. Hyunjin had hardly touched his food. On the table beside his plate was his phone, the screen showing some farfetched news article that claimed Jisung was seen looking at rings. Sure, he was. He’d been looking for a topaz ring to match one of his newest jackets, but of course they jumped to conclusions. Wedding bells were ringing in the air, they said. Pesky reporters.

“Feels all wrong,” Hyunjin frowned, tapping his fork against the side of his plate. “All these lies. I mean, I would never…” he ended in sigh, his shoulders slumping.

_ Would never what? _ Jisung wanted to ask. Now, there were a million things Jisung could have been thinking in this moment. He could have been thinking about the new custom made suit sitting in the closet, or the charity dinner coming up in just two weeks, and then there was that radio interview he had coming up, not to mention the album he was supposed to be working on. 

But why was he so bothered by the idea that Hyunjin might’ve been happy about these dating rumors, if he was being paired with someone other than Jisung. Was Jisung the problem? Was he too ugly? Too bad of a dancer? Too untalented? Not Hyunjin’s type?

Did he  _ want _ to be Hyunjin’s type?

Jisung pressed his lips together, looking once more at the blonde. He’d been so delusional, thinking Hyunjin was beneath him. In reality, Hyunjin was way out of his league. So what if Hyunjin wasn’t famous? He had the potential to be. But he didn’t want to. And that in itself made him a million times more the person that Jisung was.

“Nevermind that,” Jisung tried to keep the conversation on track. “It’s Leyeon’s birthday party. Everyone from the company will be there.”

“Including Changbin,” Hyunjin shot Jisung a glare. “I’m not going.”

“And you can’t avoid him forever,” Jisung snuck another glance at him. Truth hurts, but it was the truth. Hyunjin had been avoiding Changbin since the singer tried to kiss him, tried to rekindle an old flame. But the question still begged to be asked… “Do you still… I mean, if you could, would you still be with him?”

Hyunjin gave Jisung a long look, his eyes searching, lips parted as if he longed to say something but just couldn’t find the words. A minute wasn’t a very long time, but under Hyunjin’s stare, Jisung felt his hands go clammy, and felt the sudden need to avert his eyes.

“Jisung, do you think I want to be with him?”

At first, the question sounded rhetorical, like he expected Jisung to say “Of course not” but Hyunjin’s tone was stern, mimicking the seriousness of his expression. He wondered now if it was a trick question. If he said no would Hyunjin retort that it was none of his business anyway? If he said yes would Hyunjin call him an idiot?

“Uh…” He struggled to decide on an answer.

“Nevermind,” Hyunjin murmured, a muscle feathered in his jaw as he pushed his chair back from the table. 

Jisung watched him leave, wondering what he’d done to upset Hyunjin this time.

“Wait.” 

Hyunjin remained in the doorway, half-turned toward Jisung. 

Jisung pulled his lower lip between his teeth, releasing it with a spurt of determination. “We won’t go. If you’re uncomfortable, we won’t go.”

Hyunjin reached him in two quick strides. When he placed a hand on Jisung’s cheek, the musician leaned into his touch instead of recoiling. “I’m grateful that you’d do that for me,” Hyunjin used his thumb to nudge Jisung’s chin up. And when their eyes locked, a slow, liquid heat began to pool in Jisung’s core. He tried to will the feeling away but it remained. “But don’t worry. We’ll go. Both of us.”

Jisung raised his brows, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time when Hyunjin dropped his hand. “Suddenly… You want to go?”

“Can’t avoid him forever,” Hyunjin jerked his shoulder, lips forming a rueful smile. “I guess you’re right about some things.”

Jisung grinned. “Most things,” he corrected.

“Let’s agree to disagree.” Hyunjin still had a hand on Jisung’s cheek and the brunette found it difficult to maintain eye contact, letting his eyes dart all over the room. He could feel his cheek warming beneath Hyunjin’s hand and knew that he should move away to avoid embarrassment, but he found himself frozen.

Why did he like this so much? It was just Hyunjin. It was just Hyunjin touching his cheek. Hyunjin touching his cheek. He had nice hands. Soft skin. He had nice… Nice everything, really. Yeah, Hyunjin was really… Really…

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Jisung blurted without thinking, and Hyunjin’s hand fell away.

The blonde looked at him in surprise, his eyes wide. “Me?” He slipped into the chair beside Jisung. “What – what about me?”

Jisung was already filtering through every available answer, everything but the truth. “About… About, uh, you and whether you’d mind me getting a dog.”

For a long moment, Hyunjin simply stared, his face blank and Jisung had difficulty gauging whether he believed him. Slowly, a smile found its way onto Hyunjin’s lips, and to Jisung’s amazement, a giggle slipped out. “Do you remember when I first moved in and you were eavesdropping on my phone conversation?”

A flush crept up Jisung’s neck as he recalled that day. “I wasn’t – I – I was just –”

“I was speaking to my sister,” Hyunjin grinned. “I didn’t think you’d allow my dog to come live here with me so I asked her to look after Kkami. She lost her at the park and it took a few hours to find her. That’s why I was so upset.”

Jisung’s jaw dropped. “Your sister? You were talking to your sister?”

Hyunjin laughed. “What did you think?”

“Nothing, really,” Jisung lied, embarrassed. “I wasn’t even listening. But wow, you have a dog?”

“Mmhm,” Hyunjin nodded, cocking his head to the side. “So if you want…”

Jisung really had no intention of getting a dog, but dogs were nice, and… “Yeah, I’d love if your Kkami came to live with us.” 

Hyunjin beamed at him and he inwardly sighed.  _ Since when did he make life-altering changes for Hwang Hyunjin? _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the wait. Life gets in the way sometimes 💗  
Twitter   
CuriousCat


	19. Chapter 19

Minho shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. Well, the seat wasn’t what caused him discomfort; it was the glare from the man opposite him that made him squirm. He wished Felix had been able to take off from work, because he would be able to fill the silence like he usually did. It wasn’t like Minho hadn’t  _ tried _ to start a conversation with Seungmin. He’d said hello and then… It all spiraled from there.

He was in some shabby downtown nightclub, watching Chan as he helped Jeongin prepare for some DJ gig. Chan looked proud beside Jeongin as he fiddled with the turntable. Honestly, he still had a few days to go but the club owner had begrudgingly allowed them in to make sure the equipment was up to scratch. Chan had asked Minho to come to the club a few times to watch him in action, but Minho had politely declined. It wasn’t his scene, and Chan hadn’t pushed him. But when the club was like this, empty and smelling like clean leather, Minho had no problem being there and had accompanied Chan several times to see him check out spaces and do sound-checks.

“Absolutely not,” Chan reprimanded when Jeongin hoisted himself up onto the metal bars surrounding the DJ booth, his balance awry like an inexperienced gymnast. “There’s no need for dramatics. We don’t want an unnecessary trip to the ER.” Jeongin loudly mumbled something about Chan doing the exact same thing at the club a few weeks ago, and Chan forced him down onto the platform.

Minho stifled a chuckle. He’d planned on having a relaxing evening at home, maybe applying a facemask, watching that horror movie… But Chan had asked and, well, Minho didn’t say no to Chan. In fact, it was like he couldn’t. There was something about the earnest glow in Chan’s eyes whenever Minho agreed to hang out with him, something strangely addictive that made Minho’s entire being prickle with warmth. So he kept saying yes, yes, yes… And it felt good after saying no for so long.

It had been nearly two weeks since Minho took Chan to the diner and told him about his mother. What with work and other things keeping them busy in the days that followed, neither of them had wanted to use their free time together to discuss what had happened. And Minho was fine with that. He just wanted all the tension to settle at the bottom once more, like a wreck at the bottom of the sea. He’d dive down and salvage what he could when he had time to rest on the shore. Just for a little while, he wanted to feel at peace, and he did with Chan.

He tore his eyes away from Chan and Jeongin, and hesitantly fixed them on Seungmin. He’d responded to Minho’s greeting with a bitter, “We don’t have to talk. Actually, I don’t want to talk to you.” Minho had shut his mouth after that. But now, after a brief moment of introspection, Minho decided to try to mend what he could.

“I’m sorry,” he told Seungmin. “For hurting you. For – for leading you on.” He hadn’t realized at the time. To him, what they had was a friendship, the best one he’d ever had. And he hadn’t realized that he’d – well, he hadn’t  _ crossed _ any lines – he’d just failed to see that there  _ were _ lines. The misunderstanding had been his fault.

A muscle feathered in Seungmin’s jaw and he stared down at the table between them as he considered Minho’s apology. When he lifted his gaze there was a mixture of resentment and resignation in it, “I told Chan about us, you know.”

Minho gasped, his stomach tying itself into knots. Chan knew? He knew about how Minho had broken Seungmin’s heart? How he’d stupidly led him on? Minho burned with shame, his fingers trembling around his glass of water. How would he explain? And what really puzzled him was why Chan hadn’t said anything about it. How could he still be so nice to Minho?

“I told him after you both… When you stopped hanging out with him. He looked so down, so dejected and I was so angry at you. I tried to tell him that you weren’t worth the heartbreak,” Seungmin shook his head, throwing Minho a derisive look. Minho didn’t blame him. Not at all. He always ruined things.

“And you know what he told me?” Seungmin paused for a heartbeat. “He said that you deserved a second chance. And that if it was up to him, he’d give you a third chance and fourth chance and however many chances you need. And I guess that’s what he did because,” he gestured vaguely in Minho’s direction, “here you are.”

Minho stared, unable to form a response. If he’d had any doubt before, and goodness knows he hadn’t, he knew for sure now that Chan was truly genuine. He cared for Minho. 

“But you aren’t getting a second chance from me,” Seungmin stared him down, his gaze cold, his expression stony. “Once bitten, twice shy, right?” Minho nodded. That was fair. “I do forgive you, but I don’t trust you. I think you’re going to leave his heart in pieces. And I hope you’ll prove me wrong, because as much as I enjoy being right, I hate seeing any of my best friends suffering.”

But Minho couldn’t say he was certain that he wouldn’t break Chan’s heart. He turned to look at Chan again, and this time the blonde caught his eye from the raised platform. He gave Minho a smile and a wave of guilt washed over Minho. He had no right to that smile, he had no right to barge into Chan’s life and turn everything upside down. But yeah, here he was.

“Thank you for coming,” Chan said as they strode down the hallway. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Minho smiled, turning to face him when they’d stopped outside their respective apartments. “It’s nice to see you being a mentor.” It was just one of the lovely qualities Chan possessed.

A red flush crept up Chan’s neck and all the way into his ears, turning them bright red. Minho had to fight a giggle at the sight. “I’m too hard on Jeongin sometimes,” Chan muttered, staring down at his sneakered feet. “I know he’s an adult but still…”

“It’s only because you care,” Minho reminded him, taking an inevitable step closer. He knew it was that time of the night where they said their goodnights but he just… just wanted to be a little closer for a bit longer. “They’re your friends. Of course you care. And they care about you.” He chewed on his lip, remembering his conversation with Seungmin. “You all want what’s best for each other.”

Chan nodded, his smile wide, “We’re family. Don’t know what I’d do without them, really.”

“So then…” Minho knew it was time to say goodnight. “G—”

“I wanted to show you this,” Chan interrupted, to Minho’s delight. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and navigated to a page on his browser. “Look.”

“Oh,” Minho furrowed his brows. He’d seen that. It was an ad for a fan sign Jisung was having soon. “What… What about it?”

“You want to see him, don’t you?” Chan looked confused, his mouth downturned. “I thought…”

Minho stared, taken by surprise. Back at the diner when Chan had reassured him that he was going to meet Jisung, he didn’t think that he’d be actively looking for a way to do that. But this… “It’s just, um,” he scratched the back of his head, wondering how to explain. “It’s just not what I imagined, not how I imagined it happening.”

“What did you imagine?” Chan cocked his head to the side, curious.

“Something special,” Minho shrugged. “Something spectacular. Something wonderful. A really special moment that – that would make him believe that I – that I’m special. That I’m the one he’s been waiting for.” He wanted fireworks and glitter and sparkles and roses and violins… But he knew how that would sound if he said it out loud.

Chan shook his head, and Minho braced himself for whatever bitter response he was going to get. He probably deserved such a response too. He—

“You know, to find the one you’ve been waiting for…” Chan took a deep breath, his gaze burning into Minho. “Sometimes it doesn’t take something spectacular and wonderful. Sometimes it’s just any other old day, sometimes it’s just an accident, sometimes it just takes a broken sink and a flooded kitchen, and a beautiful man looking down at you and laughing while you fixed the sink.” Minho inhaled, recalling the day they’d met. “No matter what you’re wearing, or where you are, when you meet that person, something completely ordinary becomes extraordinary.”

“Chan…” Still reeling from the implication behind Chan’s words, Minho’s eyes widened when Chan took his hand.

“It’s an opportunity to see him,” he said softly, his fingers gently stroking Minho’s knuckles. “Don’t let that opportunity pass you.” And all Minho could do was nod stupidly when Chan lifted his hand and pressed a whisper of a kiss onto his knuckles. “Goodnight, Minho.”

Minho felt something stir in his depths. A whirlwind of a feeling. The kind of feeling that made your stomach do somersaults, and made your knees weak. It was the kind of feeling he got when he tried to imagine himself in the love stories he’d read and revered while growing up. Stories of lovers who took on the world, stories of princes and their secret lovers, stories of happily ever after… 

Minho felt as if he’d been plunged into the heart of a fairy tale. 


	20. Chapter 20

Parties. A pain in the ass. And to be honest, they wouldn’t have been a pain in the ass if the people who attended them were at the most, his acquaintances, and nothing more. Once upon a time, Jisung could have called Changbin a friend. But now…

It was something he found difficult to grapple with. Although they’d started out as a duo, when he and Changbin had been split up, they’d been pitted against each other, not just by the company but by their fans as well – who sold the most albums, who had the most views, who filled up venues faster, who had the most followers… Before all those things started to matter, it was his friendship with Changbin that had helped him get through the roughest patch – navigating through the career path of a musician without the support of his family who insisted that music should be nothing more than a hobby. He had a lot to thank Changbin for. Every time Jisung had considered leaving the company, admitting defeat to his parents, Changbin had been right there, reminding him of all the reasons he needed to stay. 

But any warm feelings Jisung had towards his old friend dissipated as he watched the man with a hawk-like gaze. Hyunjin had only headed into the restroom a minute ago, and already, Changbin was heading in the same direction. It could just be a coincidence. Maybe Changbin just needed to use the restroom. So what if Hyunjin was there? It wasn’t like Changbin was going to make a move on another guy at his fiancé’s birthday party. He wouldn’t do that. Would he?

The party had been set up in the ballroom of a five star hotel. It definitely wasn’t the kind of party where you lingered in the restroom; most people were in and out faster than a McDonald’s drive-thru. So when five minutes passed and neither Hyunjin nor Changbin left the restroom, Jisung felt it apt to… check on them. Check on Hyunjin. That’s all he was doing. 

He cautiously stepped inside the large restroom, glimpsing the granite counters, shining porcelain washbasins, the mirror covering the length of the walls, and the man’s face reflected in the mirror. “Hey,” he greeted Changbin with a small smile and stood idly beside him. Over his shoulder he saw that two of the stalls were occupied, Hyunjin obviously in one of them. 

Surprise flickered over Changbin’s features but he gave Jisung a forced smile and proceeded to fix his hair, already perfect without a strand in place. But of course, he’d needed an excuse to linger. “Glad to see you here.” But he didn’t sound glad. 

Jisung kept his voice down to a whisper, aware that despite the massive space, if Hyunjin strained his ears, he would probably hear every word. “You know, I think he made it pretty clear that he wasn’t interested when you tried to kiss him and he left.”

Changbin froze, meeting Jisung’s glare in the mirror. It took him a while to stammer out a response, “You – you can’t – Jisung please… Don’t – don’t tell—”

“I’m not going to tell anyone your secret,” Jisung snapped, folding his arms across his chest. “I just want you to stop bothering Hyunjin.”

Changbin considered him with slightly petrified, slightly curious gaze. “So it’s true then? I thought you were just pulling some publicity stunt with him but…”

“It’s true.” A lie, but Changbin didn’t have to know that. 

The man sighed, a soft huff of breath leaving his lips. “I wasn’t bothering him,” he muttered. “I just wanted to apologize for trying to…” he trailed off, not needing to explain.

A flush sounded from one of the stalls, and despite every ridiculously jealous bone in Jisung’s body, he sucked his lower lip between his teeth and left. Hyunjin deserved an apology from Changbin, and Jisung wasn’t going to invade his privacy.

And when Hyunjin returned to their table, Jisung didn’t press him to confide in him. Instead, he offered Hyunjin a reassuring smile, and a second helping of chocolate ice cream.

They were almost done with dessert when Changbin made an announcement that caused Jisung to push his chair back and ask Hyunjin, “Can we leave?”

“What is it?” Hyunjin asked when they were in comfort of Jisung’s living room again.

Kkami ran circles around the couch until Jisung retrieved her squeaky toy that had been squished into one of crevices of the couch. He settled back, wrapping his hands around his mug of hot chocolate. “Just…”

Beside him, Hyunjin raised his brows, and took a sip of his coffee. “It bothered you that Changbin announced his new album this evening.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jisung still heaved a sigh before nodding. “I know I should be working on mine. It’s been almost two years. But I… I haven’t even started. I don’t know where to start.”

Hyunjin shifted to face him, his legs folded beneath him. “Can I tell you something?” Jisung gave a small nod and cocked his head to the side. “Promise you won’t throw your hot chocolate on me?”

Jisung huffed out a laugh. “I promise to try not to.”

“It seems like you aren’t interested in making music anymore.”

Jisung’s knee-jerk reaction was to deny it, but he stopped shaking his head and admitted, “I have to be.”

“What does that mean?” Hyunjin asked gently, his hand settling on Jisung’s knee. “I mean, only if you want to tell me…”

“I used to love making music.” Used to. It was the first time he’d ever admitted that. “But my parents… My father’s an engineer,” Jisung told Hyunjin, watching his eyes widen slightly. “My mother is a doctor. Both very… academically inclined. And I was too. Until I found music. Snuck out to that audition…” He laughed blandly. It seemed like ages ago he’d climbed out of his window and jogged all the way to the venue, only to be told he was too late. He was about to leave, when they called him back out of pity. And he’d given it his best shot. “My parents pretty much disowned me, said no one from our family is going to sing and dance to make a living. They told me it would amount to nothing, that I’d never achieve anything, that I’d waste years training only to go back home crying before I debuted. But I proved them wrong and I… I have to keep proving them wrong. I can’t let them win.” Sometime during his explanation, his hand had found its way into Hyunjin’s and he allowed a faint blush to color his cheeks, but did not pull away.

“You don’t have to force yourself to do something you don’t love anymore,” Hyunjin frowned. “If you have to pretend to be happy on the outside when you’re miserable on the inside, aren’t they winning anyway?”

It took a while for the words to sink in, and when they did, a single tear slipped down Jisung’s cheek. “Hey,” Hyunjin sounded alarmed and he scooted closer, hesitating for a second before wrapping his arms around Jisung and pulling him to his chest. Maybe it was because Jisung, after a long time, felt that he could lean on someone, and that it was safe enough to show how he really feels, but he began to bawl, his tears soaking through Hyunjin’s t-shirt. And still, Hyunjin held him. “Your happiness matters, Jisung,” he said when Jisung’s sobs had ceased. He stroked up and down Jisung’s back, the movement lulling the tension in his body. “You’ve achieved enough with your music. You’ve done what  _ you _ set out to accomplish. And if you feel it’s time to move on to something else, that’s your decision to make.”

Jisung pulled back, looking at Hyunjin with blurry eyes. “You speak a lot of sense sometimes,” he said, smiling to lighten the mood.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin returned his smile and cupped his face. “Well, one of us has to, right?”

“That’s mean,” Jisung said, laughing despite himself. Hyunjin joined in, pressing his forehead against Jisung’s. And if Jisung wasn’t blushing before, his cheeks were positively on fire now. There were no cameras, no reporters, no reason for Hyunjin to be so close to him, to touch him, to… to look at him like  _ that _ . Had Jisung been wrong all this time? Had Hyunjin not been acting up for the cameras?

When Hyunjin pulled away, Jisung could only wonder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is well 💕 thank you for waiting 💞


	21. Chapter 21

“You’re unusually quiet,” Minho observed the blonde seated opposite him. Perhaps it was his imagination but it seemed that ever since he’d told Chan the news, he’d begun to behave rather… frigidly. His smiles seemed forced, he barely spoke and when he did it was just small talk or one-worded replies to something Minho asked.

“I – I am?” Chan stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “I’m fine though.” He looked down at his plate again, pushing uneaten noodles around with his chopsticks. Yup, he wasn’t fine.

“If something is bothering you,” Minho paused long enough for the waiter to place two glasses of water onto the table, “you can tell me.”

Another shrug. Chan gulped down some water and then asked, “Looking forward to tonight?”

Was that really the problem? The fansign had been Chan’s idea so how could he be upset that Minho had actually got into one? He couldn’t lie, so with some caution he said, “I am. I’m finally going to meet Jisung. It’s a big day for me.”

Chan nodded and took another sip of water. “Cool.”

Minho had really been trying to keep his annoyance to a minimum, but that response triggered whatever he’d been holding back to fire through in a snippy, “For goodness sakes, it’s just a goddamn fansign, Chan. Jisung isn’t going to go down on one knee and slip a ring onto my finger. I think we both know my delusions are a thing of the past. But I guess that’s what you always hoped for, huh?” He regretted the outburst as soon as it happened. And when Chan took a deep breath, he braced himself for whatever well-deserved telling-off he was about to get.

“I’m afraid, Minho.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t what Minho was expecting at all.

“Maybe I’m the delusional one,” Chan swallowed hard, his emotions bared in the depth of his gaze. “All I can think of is you going to meet the man of your dreams. You’ve waited so long to see him. And yeah, he’s probably not going to get down on one knee, but what happens then, Minho? What happens  _ after _ the fansign? Do you just – just move on? Do you continue hoping, dreaming, waiting for him – for someone special?”

Chan was justified in asking those questions. Completely justified. But Minho didn’t have the answers. He knew what he should say – that he was ready to move on, that everything was going to be okay, that he was going to be happy. But just like his dreams about being with Jisung, it would all just be wishful thinking – wishing that he was ready to move on, wishing that everything was going to be okay, wishing that he was going to be happy. He couldn’t promise anything to Chan when he wasn’t sure of anything.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen afterwards,” Minho admitted. “I spent so long convinced that I’d be living happily ever after with Jisung that I never gave any thought to what would happen if there was no happy ever after with him. I don’t have the answers for you,” he lifted his shoulders helplessly. Those answers weren’t going to materialize magically; Minho needed to think about them, about his life. It was like setting sail for one destination and ending up somewhere completely different. 

Chan nodded, his shoulders slumped, head hung. Minho tried to place himself in Chan’s position, understanding just how awful it must feel, baring your heart for someone and getting nothing at all in return. 

“I’m sorry, Chan.”

But Chan shook his head, and smiled, “Should I walk you to the fansign? It’s nearby, right?”

Minho shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” And seeing Chan’s crestfallen expression, he added, “I’d have loved the company. But I know you and Jeongin have a gig later tonight and you’ll be busy setting up. I don’t want to rush you.” Honestly, it would have been nice to have Chan there. He was sure his nerves were going to get the better of him.

Chan’s face lit up. “It won’t be a problem. We’re just gonna test out the equipment. We won’t be long.”

Minho smiled and reached across the table to give his hand a squeeze, “Then I’ll meet you outside our apartment building later.” 

It was 4pm and Chan hadn’t yet shown up.

A few minutes after 4pm. Still no Chan.

Already four-thirty. No Chan.

Minho chewed on his lip, feeling more anxious with each passing second, unease growing in his gut. He needed to leave now if he wanted to make it on time. He’d already sent a dozen texts to Chan but none of them had even been read. Chan wasn’t answering his phone either. Minho decided to send one more text explaining that he’d had to leave.

Honestly, he wouldn’t have felt so terrible about it if Chan had been someone unreliable, someone who let Minho down all the time, someone who didn’t care, who didn’t always have Minho’s best interests at heart. But Chan wasn’t that kind of guy. He would never stand Minho up, and especially not on a day like this. So whatever was keeping him…

When the venue was just a block away, Minho’s steps faltered. Something swelling in the pit of his stomach told him that he was going in the wrong direction. When he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, he came to a halt on the sidewalk, his heart beating against his chest when he saw that Chan was calling.

He swiped to answer, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard Chan’s voice.

“Minho…”

“Are you okay?” Minho asked. Why was it so quiet wherever Chan was? “Did something happen? Where are you?”

“Uh…” Chan’s voice trembled. “The hospital.”

“The hospital?” Fear sank its claws into Minho’s chest. “Are you – what happened?” He tried to reassure himself that if it was something serious, Chan wouldn’t be calling. But he sounded so shaken. 

“Um, Jeongin, he… Minho…” Oh. Oh no. “Goddamn it,” Chan heaved a shaky sigh. “He fell.”

“Is it bad?” Minho covered his mouth with a hand. It had to be bad. That’s why Chan sounded like that. It had to be bad. 

“I don’t know,” Chan’s voice was barely a whisper. “I should – I need to see what’s happening.”

Minho nodded and then remembered Chan couldn’t see him. “Okay, I’m just – I’m on my way to the… fansign.” Why did that sound so pathetic? So wrong?

“See you later,” Chan said, ending the call with a sniffle.

Minho groaned and looked up at the sky. He wished this was a videogame with some kind of instruction manual or prompts on the screen telling him what to do next and giving him directions so he wouldn’t mess up his life.

Minho followed the sign boards hanging from the ceiling, weaving in and out of corridors until he found the correct elevator. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the doors to open. 

And when they did…

“Hi,” he greeted Chan timidly. He’d hailed a cab and got to the hospital as soon as he could, but all his eagerness to see Chan and to comfort him had been taken over by a wave of shyness.

“But – but Minho,” Chan began to splutter, stepping out of the elevator, a plastic cup in his hand. “What about the – the fansign?” His face was blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and Minho wanted nothing else but to throw his arms around him. So he pushed aside his shyness and that’s exactly what he did.

Chan gasped, like the wind had been knocked out of him, and his arms tentatively wrapped around Minho, returning his embrace. “I’m where I need to be,” Minho murmured against Chan’s neck. “I’m where I want to be.” He pulled back slightly to look up at Chan. “How’s Jeongin? What happened?”

Chan grimaced, arms still wrapped around Minho’s waist. “I know it’s stupid to be this upset about it,” he began to ramble. “It’s a broken arm. God, I told him, Minho – I told him not to do anything stupid, to just get down from there. But he didn’t listen and he slipped and –” he sighed. “I feel like I was responsible for him and I should’ve done more and it’s my fault and—”

“Ssh,” Minho placed a finger over Chan’s lips, flushing slightly at his own action. “You’re an amazing friend and an amazing mentor, but you’re not Superman. And if you think you are,” he dropped his finger and the corner of his lips lifted, “that’s pretty delusional.”

Chan snorted out a laugh and then lowered his eyes, a coy smile spreading across his face. “Thank you for coming.”

Minho wanted to wave away his gratitude, say something funny, say something to ward away any incoming awkwardness. But he summoned his courage and wound his arms around Chan’s neck. “I wanted to be here for you just the way you’re always there for me. You’re important to me. You’re here. You’re  _ real _ .  _ This is real _ . You’re everything I’ve ever needed and I can be what you need too. I wanted to show you that. I know you’ve had doubts and I don’t blame you. Just know that I care about you too.”

Chan’s eyes widened, his fingers curling into Minho’s shirt. “Minho,” he sounded just as stunned as he looked. “Do you really… I – I don’t know what to say. I—”

“You talk too much,” Minho placed a finger over Chan’s lips again, suddenly aware of how soft and pillowy they were. He could have sworn, as he leaned in a little closer, that they smelled like papaya. And oh – he was full on staring at Chan’s lips now and there was no way Chan couldn’t have noticed that. He slowly brought his eyes up, blushing furiously as he tried to gauge Chan’s reaction. 

He didn’t expect Chan to be looking at him like  _ that _ . With burning need and desire that made Minho begin to shift uneasily. They were in a hospital hallway, but the logistics didn’t seem to matter to either of them.

Until the elevator behind Chan chimed and the doors slid open.

“Oh,” Seungmin stared at them from behind his glasses, his jaw hanging. Minho and Chan awkwardly broke apart, fumbling for words just like Seungmin. “Uh…” He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. “I just uh…”

“We were just coming up to see Jeongin,” Minho’s cheeks burned as he cast Chan a sideways glance. “Right?”

“Mm-hm,” Chan cleared his throat. “Shall we, um…?” He gestured to the elevator. 

Minho smiled and linked his arm through Chan’s, ignoring Seungmin’s stunned expression. “Sure.”


	22. Chapter 22

Jisung always felt drained after fansigns, his energy depleted, his brain too tired to function. “I just want to curl up on my bed and fall asleep but even that is too…” he sighed and looked out of the window as the car began to move.

“Trouble sleeping?” 

He shrugged and nodded without looking at Hyunjin. He didn’t want any sympathetic looks and pitiful suggestions. After his breakdown the other day, after turning to Hyunjin for comfort, he felt as though the wall between them had begun to crumble, but he was still wary of letting anyone into the bubble he’d created for himself. 

“Can I do anything to help?”

Jisung shook his head, “Nah,” but when he felt Hyunjin lean into his side, he couldn’t help feeling a bit lighter. He wasn’t used to being the center of attention to anyone other than his fans, and with Hyunjin it was so different. He wasn’t paying attention to Jisung because he was a fan of his music; he paid attention to Jisung because…. Because… Jisung pulled his lower lip between his teeth, unable to complete that thought.

He tossed and turned in bed, feeling the sheets come loose beneath him. He groaned into his pillow and switched on his bedside lamp. A daunting pile of mail collected from the fansign sat on his bedside table. He reached for one, and then deciding that he wasn’t ready for another, “Jisung, when are you releasing a new album?” he put the envelope back down. 

He jumped in surprise when a knock sounded on his bedroom door. “Jisung?”

“Yeah?” He wondered what Hyunjin was doing awake at 1am. 

“Can I come in?”

Oh. Jisung reached for his t-shirt and slipped it over his head. “Yeah, sure.”

The door opened a smidgen and then a little more, and with a nervous smile, Hyunjin slipped into the room, a few bags of caramel popcorn in his arms. “I saw your light on so I figured you might want company.” 

Jisung was struck at how different things were between them. There was a time he hadn’t even allowed Hyunjin upstairs, let alone in his bedroom. He’d been so stupid back then, unnecessarily hostile and full of himself. It felt nice being dragged down to earth again, being reminded of the boy he used to be, even if all that remained of that boy, was a shadow. 

“I could use some company.” He shifted and patted the vacant space beside him. 

Hyunjin offered him a bag of popcorn which he gratefully accepted, tearing the bag open and stuffing his mouth, enjoying the sticky sweetness of the caramel. With his hand extended halfway towards the bag again, he remembered that he had a photo-shoot the next morning and quickly pulled his hand away. He sat back against his pillow and ignored his cravings. 

“Reading fan mail?” Hyunjin asked, glancing at the pile of envelopes. 

Jisung scrunched up his face. “I know they mean well. I know they’re tired of waiting for new music, but it just makes me feel awful about myself every time they ask about it. I don’t even think I can read any more of them.”

“That bad?” Hyunjin raised a brow and reached for the topmost envelope, pausing for Jisung to give him permission.

“Go ahead,” Jisung sighed. “See for yourself.”

He watched as delicate fingers pried open the envelope, stopping only to stifle a yawn before he began to scan the contents of the letter. 

“So, why are you still awake at 1am?” Jisung wondered out loud.

Hyunjin looked away from the letter, threw a single kernel of popcorn into his mouth and began to chew, no doubt thinking of a response. Jisung wondered if he was going to get some kind of snarky reply, and was surprised when Hyunjin said, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Jisung clenched his jaw. He certainly hoped Hyunjin wasn’t worked up because of Changbin again. He thought they’d put the Changbin issue behind them. And he noticed that Changbin hadn’t so much as glanced Hyunjin’s way since their chat in the restroom. “Why?” he asked carefully.

Hyunjin looked at him now, the dim glow of the nightlight illuminating the strange emotion swirling in Hyunjin’s eyes. “Because you couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah…” Jisung was lost for words and he had to look away. It wasn’t the response he’d anticipated. “Does… Does it bother you?” The real question was  _ why _ it would bother Hyunjin.  _ Why? _ He pulled the bedcovers up to his chin as if they could shield him from the answer.

“Because…” Hyunjin shifted closer to him, his hand snaking across the bedcovers to squeeze Jisung’s knee. “I care about you.” Jisung stared wide-eyed at Hyunjin’s hand, his heart jumping in his throat. “And I want you to be okay,” Hyunjin continued, and Jisung could feel the intensity of his stare. “Actually, I want you to be more than just okay. I want you to be happy. I want you to be able to eat whatever you want whenever you want to. I want you to have a peaceful sleep. I just…” he sighed. “I care. Maybe I should have said that sooner. But I want you to know that I see you, Jisung. I see the person that you are underneath all the makeup and fancy clothes and superstardom. And you don’t have to –  _ I _ don’t want you to – hide that person from me. You try to put on this mask of indifference but I see through it. And I like the person beneath that mask. And I want what’s best for them.”

Jisung felt his heart begin to thud against his chest, his blood beginning to race. A warm, fuzzy feeling enveloped him, like Hyunjin’s words had been some kind of incantation, sweeping him under an enchantment – a magical remedy for his worsening state of mind. Hyunjin may only said he’d cared, but there was so much underlying that, so much evident in his bared gaze. And even if Jisung was reading too much into it, even if he was mistaken about what Hyunjin felt, there was no denying that Hyunjin made  _ him _ feel things. 

And it crossed so many lines.

Hyunjin was his manager – he’d been employed by the company Jisung worked for. At best, they could stretch their idol-manager relationship into a co-worker relationship, but anything more than that encroached on the contract between them. Sure, Hyunjin hadn’t actually been employed to manage him, but rather to cause scandalous rumors about Jisung, to pull a publicity stunt, but they weren’t supposed to actually get along, they weren’t supposed to have a friendship and they sure as hell weren’t supposed to have more than a friendship. Legally, Jisung wasn’t even allowed to have a relationship according to the terms of his contract.

“Jisung?” Hyunjin’s voice steeped with emotion. “What are you thinking?” He sounded afraid, and Jisung realized how much of courage he’d needed to have summoned before making the walk upstairs to Jisung’s bedroom, to bare his heart to Jisung.

Honestly, Jisung should’ve ended all inappropriateness there, should have sent Hyunjin back downstairs, should have started to rebuild the wall between them. But he  _ couldn’t _ . “No one’s ever cared about me like that,” he admitted, meeting Hyunjin’s stare. “I think I’ve been the star of so many fantasies,” he shot a quick glance at the pile of fan mail. “But none of those people know me. They know the guy who smiles and poses for photos, but you’ve seen my tears, you’ve seen me at my worst. They hear my voice through speakers, but you hear my thoughts, my concerns, my issues even without me telling you about them. They know the idol, Han Jisung. But I’ve never let anyone get to know me the way that you do.”

Hyunjin smiled at him then, his entire face lighting up, and a chuckle slipped from his lips. Jisung arched his brows and jutted his lip out, “What’s tickling you?” he asked. 

“Just,” Hyunjin chuckled again, “thinking about how we started off on the wrong foot. It feels like a lifetime ago. Did you ever expect that we’d end up like this?”

Like this? With his fingers linked through Hyunjin’s, and his head resting on Hyunjin’s shoulder while they discussed their feelings? “Absolutely not,” Jisung snorted. “This was… unexpected. Everything about you was unexpected. And I love that. For so long, my life has been all about sticking to a routine, and then you came out of nowhere and turned that upside down. And…” he took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh, “I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m with you. But…” he ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated at their situation, “the moment I’m faced with all that work I have to do just to survive in this industry, I feel like I’m drowning. And as good as you are for me, I don’t think even you can save me from that.”

Hyunjin considered him for a moment, and then handed him the letter he’d been reading. “It looks like it was written in a bit of a rush, but it might help.”

Jisung took the letter, already doubtful, but he read it just to humor Hyunjin.

_ Dear Jisung, _

_ If I had to choose a word that encompasses everything I feel for you, it would be gratitude. I’m grateful for you and your music. You’ve helped me through the most difficult times in my life. You brought me happiness that I couldn’t find anywhere else. My only hope is that you’re happy too, because you deserve your share of happiness.  _

_ Lee Minho _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the updates ♡ the next update will be the last!


	23. Chapter 23

“I can’t do it,” Minho shook his head from side to side, pressing his forehead against Chan’s shoulder, shielding his eyes from the daunting sight just a few tables away. “I really can’t do it.”

Chan set down his soda onto the table, and placed a palm on Minho’s cheek, a gentle caress that grounded him, that eased the tightness in his chest. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to do it. We can catch the 8pm matinee at the theatre downtown instead. Or… you can face your demons, release them, finally free yourself from those invisible chains.”

Minho looked up at Chan, eyes wide in surprise. Invisible chains. He’d never thought of it that way before. But even as he sat there in the diner, he could feel them. Those chains. They weighed him down, hooked into his heartstrings, the ache they caused was unending. And they would always be there unless he freed himself. And that was the other truth he’d been avoiding – that he would have to free  _ himself _ . No one else was going to do it for him because no one else could. Only he had that power. Only he could help himself. 

A week had passed since he’d embraced Chan and blurted out his feelings, stripping his heart bare for Chan in the lobby of the hospital. Since he’d almost – since they’d almost… kissed. It hurt to even think of it. Because he wanted it as badly as a man in a desert would need water. 

Since then, Chan’s persistence had been nothing short of admirable, trying to get Minho to open up a little more, to confirm the things he’d revealed at the hospital, but Minho could never bring himself to lay his feelings bare for Chan again. Not in words anyway. He’d been spending much more time with Chan, embracing him whenever they met and whenever they parted, hoping that Chan would somehow see it in his eyes, that  _ ‘Yes I care, yes I want to be with you, but no, I’m not ready for any of it yet.’ _

Chan gave him a nod of encouragement as if he could see the steely resolve returning to Minho’s gaze. With their hands clasped, they followed after the woman and her family, letting them step through the doors and onto the sidewalk before they did the same. Chan gave Minho’s hand a squeeze before letting go.

“Excuse me,” Minho blurted, suddenly worried that it might have sounded too aggressive. He didn’t want to scare her. 

His mother turned, and so did her husband and their two kids. All four looked at him, slightly perplexed. “What is it?” her husband asked, brows furrowed. But Minho’s mother was growing paler by the second, her eyes impossibly wide, her jaw hanging. “Dear, what is it?” the man asked again. 

The kids, a little younger than Minho, hung back, neither of them noticing the similarities between their mother and the stranger in the zebra print shirt. But for Minho, it was like looking into a mirror of his future self. 

“Give me a minute,” his mother said, her voice rose just above a whisper. “I – I’ll meet you all at the car.” Her husband stared at her for a second before nodding, giving Minho one last quizzical look before departing with their children. 

“Do you recognize me?” Minho asked, his head cocked to the side, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

His mother huffed out a nervous laugh, “You look nothing like your father.”

Minho inhaled and exhaled through his nose. The sidewalk wasn’t the best place for that conversation. He jerked his head towards the diner. “Want to go back in?”

“Just say whatever you need to say,” her tone was defensive, maybe even hostile. 

That was to be expected, Minho supposed. She hadn’t once gone back to the village to ask his grandparents about him. She hadn’t tried looking for him because she didn’t want to. She didn’t want him barging into her new life. She didn’t want  _ this _ .

Minho sighed, “I just wanted you to know that… That I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you for falling in love. I don’t hate you for falling out of love, and I definitely don’t hate you for finding love again. I’m not holding anything against you or your family. But what you did – abandoning me with those – those people who saw me as nothing more than a result of your mistake… Love was no excuse for that,” the words felt thick on his tongue, his throat constricting. “And it ruined me. I let it ruin me for a long time. So I needed this,” he gestured between them, “to heal the hole that you left here.” He placed a hand over his heart. “You won’t hear from me again,” he reassured her.

When he turned away from her, she didn’t stop him. And he didn’t look back.

“Are you cold?”

Minho arched a brow and gave Chan a sideways glance. “Are you playing the chivalrous gentleman, offering his date the scraps off his back to prove his undying love?”

A pink flush flourished across Chan’s cheeks, his ears a deep shade of red. “That’s not what I—” his eyes widened slightly, “Did I upset you?”

Shifting on the bench to study Chan properly, Minho continued, “After you hand over your coat will you shift closer to me and not-so-subtly place an arm around my shoulders? And beneath the glow of the moon,” the corner of his lips lifted, as he beheld the sliver of white peeking out from behind a grey cloud, “will you kiss me? That’s quite a cliché, don’t you think?”

Chan’s gulp was audible, “I really didn’t mean to upset —”

“But I like clichés,” Minho’s lips twitched. “Have you forgotten?” Chan slowly shook his head from side to side, confusion evident from the deep V formed by his brows. “Then give me your coat,” Minho said softly. “Come closer, put your arm around my shoulders.” Chan’s jaw lowered slightly, and then a little more when Minho said, “And for goodness sakes, kiss me. It’s been a long time coming, don’t you think?” 

For a second, Minho thought that Chan was too taken aback to act, but then he began to unbutton his coat, his fingers slipping a few times on the brass buttons, his eyes darting to the sleek navy water of the Han river as he rose to his feet and slipped the coat off. Eyes flicking to Minho’s face, and then away again, he placed his coat around Minho’s shoulders.

Minho’s smile widened as he clutched the coat around himself, enveloped in warmth that he didn’t really need because he was already warming from the inside out, his blood simmering with fiery need, with anticipation. And when Chan sat down beside him again, this time leaving no space between them, Minho pulled his lower lip between his teeth, hoping that it would stop the tremble of his jaw. 

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his chest at a rate that he was sure would alarm any medical professional, and despite the desperate thumps against his chest, Minho couldn’t focus on anything beside the man beside him, the fingers trailing a soft caress down his back, and up, until an arm rested comfortingly around his shoulders. Minho leaned into him, so close that he could smell Chan’s aftershave, the woody, citrus scent calming his nerves a fraction.

When he steeled himself enough to turn his head, to look Chan in the eye, his breath caught at the earnest look in the man’s eyes, at the raw vulnerability, the hope, the desperation, the warmth, the tenderness. How could someone feel so much for him? And how could he – heaven help him – how could  _ he _ feel so much for someone? 

Of its own accord, his palm placed itself on the curve of Chan’s jaw, his thumb caressing soft skin. And when Chan leaned in, stopping a breath away from Minho’s lips, his brows arched in question, Minho felt it apt to show Chan that he held no such reservations. He closed the gap between them, reveling in the brush of soft lips against his own, as gentle as the tickle of a feather. 

For a moment, they remained as is, lips touching – just barely – eyes closed, breathing in the scent of each other. Minho’s fingers dug into the fabric of Chan’s shirt, the coat slipping off his shoulders – but good riddance, because he was it suddenly too warm anyway – and he opened his eyes, ever so slowly, bumping the tip of Chan’s nose with his own. A chuckle slipped from Chan’s lips, and then from Minho’s, but all humor died when Minho said, “I think I could fall in love with you, Bang Chan.”

Chan’s fingers tensed their grip on Minho’s hips, and his eyes widened before he broke into a radiant smile, one that would give the sun a run for its money. “I think I  _ am _ falling in love with you, Lee Minho.”

Minho grinned, about to respond with another kiss when a loud beep sounded from his pocket. He debated ignoring it, but his conscience insisted that it might be an emergency. He shifted so that he could slip the phone out of his pocket and both he and Chan stared at the notification on screen. “Jisung’s doing a live,” he muttered. And it wasn’t the slight disappointment in Chan’s eyes that made him slip the phone back into his pocket; Minho had new priorities. “I’ll catch up tomorrow.” 

“Are you sure—”

Minho cut him off with a kiss, somewhat less chaste than their previous one. Chan chuckled before pulling Minho onto his lap, deepening their kiss, the moonlight and the soft ripples of the river their only witnesses. Satisfied, Minho broke away, resting his head in the crook of Chan’s neck, his fingers playing with the curls at his nape. 

He’d always wondered what with this would feel like. The reciprocity. To give comfort, and be comforted. To desire and to be desired.

To begin to fall in love with someone who was falling in love with him. 


	24. Chapter 24

“You want… You want Hyunjin to leave?”

Jisung looked at the serious faces surrounding him. The CEO, and three of his interns – Dowoon among them but looking somewhat subdued compared to his usual cocky self – and a few of the board members looked at him through disapproving eyes. 

“He’s created the publicity we needed from him,” CEO Park shrugged, taking an obnoxious slurp of his smoothie. “He’s served his purpose so we’ll let him go. And then you can prepare for your comeback.”

“My _ comeback _?” Jisung furrowed his brows. “What comeback?”

“Your new album,” the CEO waved a hand as if he could magically conjure up an album from thin air. “So what if you can’t write songs anymore?” And Jisung’s cheeks began to burn with shame at this. “We’ll have songs written for you. And since you’re unable to compose anything anymore, we’ll have that done for you too. A new Han Jisung. Just… start over.”

Confusion turned into embarrassment which rapidly began to melt into dread. And yet, despite all this new information concerning his future, he could only ask, “Does Hyunjin really have to leave?”

No one batted an eyelash. No one listened. No one cared about what Jisung wanted. And for the first time in a long time, Jisung knew what he wanted.

Jisung sat stoically, hands resting on his lap. One of the makeup artists clicked her tongue irritably and he inwardly sighed, trying to make himself more pliant so that they could get him ready for the broadcast. 

He'd asked why they couldn't just announce his comeback like they usually did, with an online notice, a news article or two... But this, making him announce it himself was not what he'd expected. Apparently, according to the CEO at least, his fans deserved this much after the long wait. Bullshit, if you asked Jisung. His fans deserved an artist who was genuine, who enjoyed making music, who actually wanted to call himself an artist. He was just the shell of the man they all thought they knew. 

He pursed his lips in anger and unexpectedly made eye-contact with the man who'd wedged himself into the corner of the room. Hyunjin. His gaze softened at the sight of him. Jisung hadn't been there when the CEO had broken the news to Hyunjin, that he was going to be discarded like an old piece of paper. That he was leaving. He hadn't spoken to Hyunjin about it, and Hyunjin hadn't mentioned it either. For the past few days they'd been living in blissful, deliberate ignorance as if they thought that if they ignored it, it would go away. 

"Your script," Dowoon said, taking a seat beside him, a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Do you need to take another look?"

Jisung's gaze drifted to lines running across the page. He shook his head. "Alright," Dowoon nodded, opening his mouth as if to say something more and then closing it again. A minute passed before Dowoon finally said what was on his mind. "The blog is mine. The Hyunsung blog."

Jisung stared, perplexed, and then he understood. "You were trying to create public interest in us – Hyunjin and I. To fuel the fire."

Dowoon nodded, color creeping up his neck. "At first, yeah. But then..." he gave Jisung a sheepish grin. "Well, the pictures didn't lie, did they? Whatever's going on between you and Hyunjin… It looks real. It _ feels _ real."

Jisung searched for Hyunjin again, only to find the blonde already looking at him. A tentative smile formed on Hyunjin's lips and Jisung felt his cheeks warm. It did feel real. He couldn't deny that.

"Do whatever you want, Jisung," Dowoon said, taking him by surprise. "Whatever makes you happy. The truth is, CEO Park will always put the company before your happiness. Someone's gotta put your happiness first. And maybe that someone has gotta be you."

Dowoon's words remained with Jisung even as the broadcast began, as the camera focused on him, and the fans went berserk in the comment section. 

"Everyone," he forced a smile, trying to block out everything except the words that he'd memorized from the script, "I... I have some really – really special news and..." he could see his smile slipping away, and along with it went his facade. He lifted his wide-eyed gaze away from his on-screen reflection, unable to look at the vulnerability etched into his face. Instead, he looked at Hyunjin.

Hyunjin started towards him, his eyes filled with concern, but as if he remembered himself, he shrunk back into his corner. And what Jisung wouldn't give to be comforted by him right then and there...

But there was something more important he had to do. He cleared his throat, staring straight into the camera lens, "I have some news. Great news, for me at least. But you all may feel differently." The staff members crowded into the room all exchanged wry smiles. They probably thought he'd forgotten his lines again and that he was going to come up with something spontaneous, even better than the script. They were right, in a way. "As of today, as of right now, I suppose..." he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, "I'm no longer an artist signed to this company."

There was a collective intake of breath from everyone in the room, a small pause, and then someone reached to turn the camera off. "Please don't turn it off." The woman halted at Jisung's request. "There are a million other ways to get this message across to people, so please just let me do it now." And without interruption, he continued, "To all those of you who have supported me, I'm really grateful. It’s because I know that you want the best for me, that I'm able to take this step, to do what my heart tells me is right."

Jisung gave his virtual audience a smile – a more genuine smile than he’d been able to muster in a long time – and turned the camera off. It took a second for the room to explode, a loud buzz of overlapping reprimands and questions that he tuned out as he pushed through the makeup artists, sound technicians, and interns. He stepped out into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him, waiting a moment to see if anyone followed. No one. He was glad, even though they were probably on the phone with the CEO, delivering the bad news to him.

Jisung heaved a sigh of relief, in awe of how light he felt. He’d just ended an eight year career. He was jobless; he was probably going to be sued by the company and would be left penniless within a month or two. And despite it all, he was happy. A nervous kind of happy, unsure whether it was okay to smile after what he’d just done, unsure whether to bask in the rains of his freedom or whether to hide and wait the storm out. 

He rested his back against the wall, and winced at the creak of the door. His eyes fluttered shut. He didn’t want to answer any questions. Not yet. He just wanted to—

“Jisung?”

His eyes flew open and he greeted the blonde with a subdued smile. He didn’t know how Hyunjin had taken the news. He hadn’t wanted to know. What if he thought Jisung was stupid for giving it all up?

“I’m—” Hyunjin’s breath hitched as if the words were stuck in his throat. “I never expected you to… I mean…” Jisung chewed on his lower lip. “I’m so proud of you.”

Oh. A wave of relief washed over him. Why had he even doubted Hyunjin’s support in the first place? He wouldn’t have even had the courage to do any of it without Hyunjin’s support. “Thank you,” he swallowed hard. “For – for being there. Here.” 

Hyunjin took a step towards him. And then another step. And then another, until he was close enough to cup Jisung’s face with his slightly trembling hands. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Jisung’s cheeks warmed at his touch and he huffed a laugh, “Did you hear that in a movie?”

Hyunjin sighed and narrowed his eyes, “If you must know, I heard it in several movies. But did you really have to ruin the mood?”

With a brow arched in question, Jisung asked, “What mood?”

A slow flush began creeping up Hyunjin’s neck, “You know…” But Jisung shook his head and hummed, feigning ignorance. His eyes darted over Hyunjin’s shoulder, aware that at any moment someone could walk out of that conference room and see them in this… compromising position. Hyunjin pressed him into the wall, “You _ know _,” he insisted.

The corner of Jisung’s lips tugged upward. “Show me.”

Jisung could literally feel Hyunjin's control snap as he lowered his mouth and took Jisung's in a deep, scorching kiss. When Hyunjin pulled away, a low moan built in Jisung's throat and he tangled his fingers in Hyunjin’s hair in an attempt to get more of his lips. “Wait,” a chuckle slipped from Hyunjin’s lips. “If someone walks into the hallway—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jisung scowled, and when Hyunjin complied, they lost themselves in the kiss, a fervent mess of lips, tongue and teeth, each breath harried and heavy. 

This continued for a minute, or two, or several – Jisung couldn’t tell – until the door just beside them creaked open. They froze, their lips resting upon each other’s. Hyunjin braced an arm against the wall, shielding Jisung’s burning face from view, and they remained as they were, bodies molded against each other until hurried footsteps retreated back into the room. Gossip was going to spread like wildfire, but Jisung didn’t care, and when Hyunjin crashed their lips together again, he realized that Hyunjin didn’t care either. 

The realization made him laugh against Hyunjin’s lips, and the blonde pulled away with an exasperated sigh. “Ruining the mood again?” But despite himself, he rested his forehead against Jisung’s and laughed too. Jisung wasn’t sure what exactly Hyunjin was laughing at – at the pink blooms scattered across Jisung’s cheeks, at his unending giggles, at the strange situation they’d found themselves in? All of it, maybe. 

And yeah, it was funny. So they laughed, loud, and crazy to any onlookers, but also a way for them to expel every bit of tension that had strung them up over the past few months.

The laughter died on Jisung’s lips when Hyunjin pulled him into an embrace. It felt warm, safe and comforting, the kind of embrace that said, _ ‘I’m here for you. I’m here with you’. _

And Jisung’s heart began to sing. He felt as if in that moment, he could write a million songs. Songs about sorrow, songs about happiness, songs about tears, songs about laughter, songs about heartache, and songs about falling in love. Songs that he didn’t have to share with anybody but his own heart, and perhaps with the man who’d come to reside inside his heart too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this story finally comes to end! Thank you to all of you who have patiently waited for updates. This wasn't a fic I wanted to rush and I'm really grateful for your understanding. The characters in this story said a few things in the last two chapters that I needed to tell my myself, so please forgive the self-indulgency. Thank you for accompanying me on this journey 💕💕💕💕 I always wish you health, happiness and love 💗

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments and questions are welcome. To hear me screaming about my kpop boys and girls, follow me on twitter: @ flora_stays  
For fic updates and spoilers follow me on IG: @ florathewriter


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